Blind Faith With Eyes Wide Open
by Cyn Tolram
Summary: Sequel to Req for Innocence – In retaliation of Ian’s departure, Irons plots to kill Sara. The blade abandons its wielder in her darkest hour, leaving only Gabe & Ian to pick up pieces of her shattered life. Will Irons be master of this chess game?
1. Chapter One - Her Darkest Hour

Blind Faith with Eyes Wide Open Sequel to Requiem for Innocence 

8/09/02

cyntolram@hotmail.com

**Rated PG-13 – Violence/Language**

**Time Frame: Season 2 – After the Periculum**

**Disclaimer****:  All rights to Witchblade and its characters belong to Top Cow and TNT.  I am just an admirer of the strange yet irresistible character of Ian Nottingham as portrayed by Eric Etebari. **

I am extending a _special thanks to my collaborators and co-conspirators **Blue Raven and ****Lady Lynne (aka Nightshade)---truly gifted writers and wondrous beta readers.  They make writing sheer joy.  The process of writing can be a torturous yet pleasurable journey for me.  Having two such generous and insightful companions, along this journey, eases my burden.  I am blessed to have their counsel **__and their friendship._

**Synopsis**** - Sequel to Requiem for Innocence – In retaliation of Ian's sudden departure, Irons plots to kill Sara.  The Gauntlet abandons its wielder in her darkest hour, leaving only her friend Gabe and her protector Ian to pick up the pieces of her shattered life.  Will Irons be the master of this chess game with the blade and Ian as the prize?**

**Chapter One – Her Darkest Hour **

_"She heard voices, too…had visions.  She claimed they were the source of her power.  History credits them with her demise.  A cruel destiny to be sure…but a destiny that mattered.  A responsibility…a duty…a cause.  I doubt anyone ever understood her.  How could they?  Ultimately, she was abandoned."_

_Ian Nottingham (of Joan of Arc)_

Darkness had fallen on the Irons' Estate…in more ways than the sun dissolving below the horizon.  A dark and ominous shroud was roiling towards the mansion, and in its haste, angrily rumbling its discontent.  Just due south of the manor, flashes of lightning waged war on the earth, sending electrifying tendrils to wreak havoc.  The ostentatious display of lights was out of sync with the thunder, signifying the storm was still a distance away, but its' approach was imminent.  Oblivious to the onslaught of Mother Nature, the master of the estate was now alone with his introspection.

The fire blazed with intense heat, enough to almost burn his skin as he sat in his favorite wing backed chair, hued in royal blue and red velvet in a rich tapestry pattern, positioned near the hearth in the Great Room.  He had spent many hours in this room.  With an extensive personal library upstairs, display cases of rare antiquities, and well-chosen tapestries and paintings, the Great Room was aptly named.  The main focal point of this vast space was the massive, stone hearth with its roaring fire that usually fought to keep the invading chill from this wing of the estate.   

Without any other lights burning in the cavernous room, the blaze cast eerie shadows across the expanse that danced seductively with the inferno.  Brooding, the master of the estate was oblivious to the shadowy display just behind him.  His long legs were closest to the flame as it crackled and popped angrily.  Brushing up against his shins, his pant legs burned the pale and sensitive skin underneath.  The cheeks of his face appeared red and swollen from the blaze.  The warmth from the fire had only accentuated the fever in his brain as his reflections plagued him. Billionaire Kenneth Irons was familiar with pain.  He was intimately acquainted with his own torment borne of unspoken and unexamined guilt over the years.  It was like a festering wound always ready to unmask itself at the least provocation.  So he had learned to accept that which he could not change, his very nature.  Was yearning for power and all that comes with it an evil quality?  He thought not.  Therefore, he deemed it a waste of time to truly examine his life and second-guess his choices.  He would accept his nature and move on with his life.  Without the contradiction of good and evil, pain and ecstasy…how could he _truly appreciate the rapture that made him feel alive?  Just as death was apart of life, so was deprivation a part of indulgence._

He was tormented now with his recent memories.  The estate had been noticeably quiet since Ian's…departure.  The assassin had not been a loud inhabitant, quite the opposite, but Irons could always engage in interesting conversation with him.  He had grown accustomed to such intellectual pursuits.  Now, even the wolfhounds seemed restless and whined incessantly, awaiting young Nottingham's return.  He had found them curled up at the closed door of Ian's former bedroom on many evenings.  Their whimpering, in the middle of the night, had called his attention to that fact.  

The incoming storm had finally gained its advantage, sweeping over the estate with its barrage of weapons.  Its torrential rains pummeled the imposing windows nearest Irons and its ear shattering cracks of thunder threatened the security of the estate with the potential devastation of a lightening strike.  With the chaotic turmoil outside these walls, Irons found himself hoping for a simple act.  He found himself glancing at the door to the Great Room imagining Ian quietly slipping into the room, as was his custom.  Such an unpretentious act had given him such comfort, he now realized.

Was he prepared to grant absolution for Nottingham's transgressions?  This remained to be seen, but he at least thought he was receptive to such an idea, missing his young confidante.  After all, he could bestow his forgiveness upon poor Ian, showing his capacity for mercy, but then make him pay in _other ways…using more insidious methods.  Nottingham needed to understand there were consequences for his actions.  This would be just another one of Irons' life lessons._

Blocking Nottingham's image from his mind temporarily, Irons languidly sipped his brandy from the cut crystal snifter.  The brandy and his black velvet smoking jacket contributed to his raised temperature, but not sufficiently to distract him from his anguish.  Enough ghosts had haunted him in his lifetime.  _What was one more?  Raising the glass to his face brought a fleeting abatement from the blazing fire as the crystal deflected the heat.  His white, blond hair and ashen skin, flush with the warmth of the fire, mirrored the brilliant hues of the flames before him.  Prisms of tinted light radiated from the crystal glass, as he raised it once again to his lips, casting a warm rainbow of color in sharp contrast to his chiseled and cold visage.  The chill from his pale blue eyes grew as he attempted to extinguish the blaze by sheer force of will and his proximity.  Like the flame, the memory could not be snuffed out so easily._

_That fateful day…He had pulled out a 38-caliber Smith and Wesson handgun, along with a piece of paper and pen, and laid it conspicuously on the middle of Nottingham's bed.   With an arrogance that even now sounded like another's voice, he could hear himself say,_

_"You have failed me…but you can still serve Lady Sara…by making the ultimate sacrifice…your life for hers.  I have even provided you some paper so you can write her a suicide note…for her eyes only.  I will deliver it to her myself."_

Irons had tried to convince Nottingham that the contract on Sara Pezzini's life could be revoked if he did what Irons asked.  He could still see the look on Ian's face when he realized what Irons was asking of him.  In that one pitiable look, Irons had seen the innocent and guarded face of his young protege as a child mixed with the devastated and forsaken face of the man he had become. 

_"Do what must be done, young Nottingham.  Ultimately, I am sure you will thank me for this opportunity to serve her.  It shall be a mercy."_

This had all been a lie of his _own creation.  There had been no contract on her life.  NYPD's Captain Bruno Dante, head of the Eleventh Precinct, had __not mobilized his corrupt band of police officers called the White Bulls to kill her.  Dante had __not been in league with Irons, at least on __this one occasion.  _

It had _all been a lie._

He reflected, for only a brief moment, how he had felt when he thought Nottingham could be spared.  When his guilt and regret plagued him enough to take action.  He recalled the time when he raced for Ian's room to stop him from killing himself.

_Maybe there was still time.  Maybe he could find another way._

_Irons bolted to the door of the Great Room, desperately hoping he would be in time.  His heart raced as he dared to hope.  Before he had taken a few steps, the ear shattering blast of gunfire ripped through his head and his heart, doubling him over in pain and sorrow as he collapsed to the floor.  His grief manifested itself in a long, slow moan that had escaped from deep within his soul._

_He was too late.  This could not be fixed.  Young Nottingham was no more.  Images of Ian as a child…as a young man…as his loyal servant flashed in his head, he could not stop the flood of memories…or the guilt.  His purveyor of justice…his confidante…his faithful servant…his son…was forever gone.  He felt as if he had suffered a gapping hole to his chest with that gunfire, for the agony of his culpability made it feel as if he would soon die…of the broken heart he had a hand in making._

Now as he sat in front of the fire, his ego in complete control, he thought it would have been nobler had Nottingham _indeed committed the act.  Irons would have been appropriately remorseful, and his life would have gone on uninterrupted.  But now, things had changed.  Ian had played him for a fool, stealing a million dollars from his office safe and, more importantly, Irons had kept books on his illegal arms trading in that safe.  Both the money and the arms trading evidence were gone.  The money had been of no consequence, but the betrayal…the betrayal was __everything…even though Irons had forced Ian's hand in the first place.  There had only been a small, folded piece of paper remaining in the safe.  He read the note, knowing Ian had written it._

_"You harm Sara…and I harm you."_

"Well…let's see how you will handle this little distraction, Ian."  Irons spoke out loud for the first time this evening.  

For a brief moment, the wolfhounds perked their heads up from their sleep in response to his voice, emitting a low growl in the process.  A crack of thunder and a flash of light, coupled with the pounding rain, sent the hounds scurrying closer to the fire and nearer their master.  Irons' voice echoed and hung in the darkness of the room, sounding somehow foreign to him.

Earlier that day, he had placed a call from his office at Vorschlag Industries to Captain Dante.  He despised the man but the underhanded cop was a necessary evil.  Irons chuckled at his reference to evil when thinking of Dante for Irons was evil incarnate…Dante was no match for him in _that department…not even a blip on evil's radar._

_"Kill her tonight, Bruno.  And I want you to bring me her body."_

_Dante made some distasteful remarks about necrophilia.  Irons made a note in his day planner as the Captain was laughing to himself.  Dante would not have been pleased with the content of this note, but he would soon discover that Irons always accomplished his Things To Do list._

Staring at the ringed scar on his right hand, complements of his own brief acquaintance with the blade, Irons clenched his fist in anger.  He had no intention of sharing his thoughts with Dante on the Witchblade.  Had Ian still been in his service, this task would have fallen to him.  Now, Irons would have to suffer Dante.  He would tell him _only what he needed to know.   He further cautioned._

"Your 'subcontractors' should not be associated with me…or the NYPD.  Do I make myself clear, Bruno?"

With a sudden shooting pain, the circular scar on his hand sent shock waves of torment up his arm and into his brain, allowing him to bear witness to Sara's ordeal that had only just begun.  Strokes of lightning and gripping cracks of thunder ripped through his mind, as if it were an extension of the storm outside.  He could not distinguish between the two as the rain buffeted the windows and the thunder angrily rumbled and cast off its bolts of lightening.  The wolfhounds timidly cowered before Irons, whimpering and licking his hands as his fingers gripped the arms of his chair.  The connection with the wielder was undeniably stronger than he had ever felt before…yet something was different with the blade.

He writhed in pain…as his temperature escalated.  His eyes rolled into his head as he felt her fear.  The reverie was intoxicating…erotic…pain and ecstasy together again.

_Run Sara…Run if you can…__Soon, it would all be over._

*****

Sara Pezzini left Mike's Pool Hall a few dollars richer.  Once the rain had subsided, she had found herself restless sitting around her loft.  Most people wanted to curl up with a good book on a rainy night, but Sara was far from conventional in the things that amused her.  Her day as a homicide detective for the NYPD had been particularly stressful and she needed to kick back somewhere nobody knew her.  Not knowing anyone at the pool hall held other benefits as well.  No one knew she could run a table, so she had cleaned up.  

Avoiding the puddles of standing rain water, she turned down the dimly lit alley towards her Buell motorcycle, pocketing the bills in her jean pocket as she searched for the ignition key. Her long brown hair had fallen off her shoulders as she reached into her jean pocket.  The air was thick with its humidity and the sound of emptying rain gutters echoed along the street.  Nearing midnight, the alley held more shadows than usual.  Most of the streetlights had been shot out…a sign of the violent times changing her old childhood neighborhood.  The noise behind her did not register at first.  

The sound had been so faint…merely a scuff of a shoe.  Movement in the shadows caught her attention as she reached for her weapon holstered under her jean jacket at the small of her back.  Her cop instinct was taking over…a feeling that she affectionately called her _spidie sense was tingling._

"Well…what do we have here?  You the big winner, sweetheart?"  A large man dressed in dark clothing stepped near the edge of the shadows…not near enough for her to see any details.  A pair of nylons pulled over his head distorted his features.

The hosiery was probably an improvement, but his pick up line needed some work, she thought.

"What…you not getting paid enough shoveling shit at the zoo…you have to rob a poor defenseless woman?"  With a mock pout, she batted her eyelashes at him with a bravado her pounding heart betrayed.  Her hand gripped the butt of her gun.  "This is not your lucky day, pal.  Police officer…NYPD." Sara identified herself, hoping it would buy her a break.

The Gauntlet was cold and dark on her wrist.

"I think Ms. NYPD needs an attitude adjustment…What do you think, guys?"  His voice was cold with not even a flinch when she had identified herself as a police officer.  "Oh…and if you think the Calvary is coming?  Think again."  He sneered as he held up a cell phone that had looked an awful lot like hers.  Sara instinctively kept her eyes alert for any threatening movement, keeping her gun trained on the leader, but patted down her right jacket pocket with her left hand feeling for the familiar bulge of her phone.  

It was missing.  

Just as the Neanderthal had started to speak, Sara realized she was quickly being ensnared in a trap. She counted eight men…and those were the ones she could clearly see in this dark alley. Her only escape was behind her and it was closing fast.  She stepped back towards the only avenue of freedom as she pulled her gun, aiming it at their apparent leader.  As she pointed her gun at his chest, she glanced at the ancient weapon on her wrist, knowing something was amiss.  By now, it should have been glowing and swirling red color as it cast its angry hues about her, waiting for Sara to will it to action.  It lay cold on her arm, just another piece of costume jewelry.

She was severely outgunned.  Not only was she outnumbered, but also some of the masked gunmen carried automatic weapons.  Without the Witchblade, and its ability to deflect the spray of rounds that would soon come her way, she was dead meat.  This was _not your basic mugging.  The stolen cell phone attested to the fact that this had been planned.  It was too organized and the number of men and weapons was overkill.  She suspected Kenneth Irons to be behind this…__but why?  She moved closer to the end of the alley, looking for any opportunity to escape.  With the amount of firepower here, she could be responsible for starting another world war if she didn't keep her cool.  If she could just stall for time, perhaps the sound of shots fired would draw the attention of law enforcement…or give her enough time to awaken the ancient weapon on her wrist.  _

She needed a distraction.

With a flash of anger in her intense green eyes, just as the tautness of the moment peaked, Sara reacted by pointing her gun to the only light faintly glowing at the exit door to the pool hall.  She counted on her marksmanship to extinguish the light that made her a conspicuous target.  The blast of her gun and the shattered glass sent the men scurrying in the darkness like roaches.  The deafening sound had shattered the stalemate.  Sara turned to run down the street, desperately trying to evade the band of hoodlums that chased her.  She had worn boots and now wished she had chosen her running shoes.  Her feet felt like lead.  She had not noticed just how deserted this section of town was at this time of night.  Her mind was desperately attempting to formulate a plan to untangle herself from this mess.

Eight long blocks later, in a dark section of the street, she turned to her left darting down an alleyway she hoped was not a dead end.  A door to her right lay just ahead.  Grabbing the knob and turning it, she found it locked.  In her desperation, she yanked again as if she could make it open by sheer determination.  Pounding on the door, she yelled at the top of her lungs.

"Someone call 9-1-1.  NYPD…officer needs assistance."  Her breathing was now labored and raspy.

Even though she had gained some distance on the men chasing her, this delay had taken its toll.  She hoped it would not cost her life.  The sound of footsteps was growing closer.  Back lit by the streetlight, the dark faceless shadows of her pursuers gathered at the entrance to the alley.  To the north, lightening flashes displayed their brilliance in the darkened clouds overhead as a burst of automatic gunfire sprayed above her head, sending shards of brick and glass raining down on her exposed skin, cutting it.  Shaking off the debris, she cowered then ran toward her only hope of cover.

The alley veered right just a few steps away from Sara.  She fought to gain back her advantage, running with every fiber of her being focused on the effort.  She had a stitch in her side and she could feel the burn as the lactic acid was building in her muscles as she pounded her way down the passage.  Taking the briefest of moments to glance upon her wrist, the Gauntlet lay dormant, unwilling to be commanded by her.

Her pursuers were not relenting.

_"The Witchblade abandons its wielder in her darkest hour…" The voices came from deep within her…as if in a distant memory…somehow familiar, yet not.   __"Darkest hour…" The muffled voices echoed in her brain.  Hearing voices now did not bode well for her.  At a moment of weakness, a thought invaded her mind…__I could die here…in this dirty alley.  An image of her dead corpse in bloodied repose flashed into her mind, her fellow detectives intimately gazing upon her in death and wondering what happened in her final minutes__.  Focus…Must focus.  She pushed harder to gain an advantage._

The alley opened to another narrow street.  The only light source coming from a street lamp to her left.  She started to turn towards it but stopped dead in her tracks.  The men had split into two groups.  The second group cut off her escape, forcing her to reverse course and head down the darker avenue.  They would soon be upon her.

She noticed movement along the perilous route…on both sides.  Shadows peered from lower stairwells; crates and cardboard boxes seemed to move on their own.  She had thought she was really loosing it…hearing voices and now seeing…this.  It took her a moment to realize that the homeless inhabited this pathway.  Not having much choice, she darted past the street people, hoping to avoid getting them involved in her fight.

"Keep your heads down.  NYPD officer needs assistance.  Call 9-1-1."  Although she did not expect them to help her, she did not want them to get hurt in the process either.  She ran further down the street into the darkness with her attackers in hot pursuit.

Sweat trickled down her body under her clothes and stung her eyes, she knew she would have to turn and fight.  Desperately, she looked for a vantage point to position herself.  She could not outrun them.  She would have to hold off a well-equipped army until help could arrive…if it did at all.

The Witchblade was still devoid of any activity.  She had no experience from which to draw.  Had Gabe or Nottingham given her any advice on such an eventuality?  _Focus…I must focus, she thought._

_"Abandons the wielder…darkest hour…darkest hour."  The voices echoed in her mind, loud enough she thought that others might hear them too.  They seemed to come from all around her…encircling her with their mockery._

_"Are you a pretender, Sara?" She had not uttered a sound…yet the voice this time…It had been her own._

Shaking off her thoughts that she was going insane, she spotted another alley to her right just ahead.  She did not think they had gotten ahead of her…perhaps laying in wait around that very corner.  Trusting her instincts, she wheeled to her right, hunkered down by a concrete stoop near the alleyway.  This was a good place to make a brief stand before she ducked into the alley ahead…and make them think twice before following her.  

"Damn it, Nottingham!  Where are you when I need you?"  Sara muttered this under her breath in frustration.  She would have to find her _own solution._

Steadying her gun hand, Sara took aim.

The gun blast sent the men hustling for cover.  Sara heard one of her rounds hit.  The bullet ripping through flesh made a distinctive sound within the brick façade of this alley.  A man carrying an automatic weapon clutched his chest.  His right hand in a death grip pulled back the trigger, sending a spray of bullets just over Sara's head up the brick wall of an old warehouse.  Shattered brick and a displaced cornice from above rained down upon Sara as she hid from her attackers.

_"Are you a pretender?" The voices accompanied her self-doubt.  Her __own voice being the clearest…and most devastating._

The stonework fell on Sara, bruising and pummeling her body.  As the last stone struck the back of her head, shooting pain blinded her.  Bright lights shot through her brain…then all went dark.  

"Pretender…" 

She was outnumbered and defenseless.  She lay unconscious under the debris.  Her attackers raised up one by one to see if it was safe to approach.  They ventured into the street, creeping closer to their prey with guns drawn.  They had no appreciation for Sara's predicament.  The blade had abandoned her.  

But she was _not alone._

A dark shadow emerged from the alley behind Sara's body.  Noiselessly, the mysterious stranger rose up like smoke from the carnage at his feet, like an apparition.  Dressed in a long black coat, the solitary figure stepped into the street, facing the menacing group with empty gloved hands.  His long dark hair was worn loose and framed his close cropped beard that accentuated the contempt in his eyes.  He stared coldly at the men, as if he could find and rip out their souls in the darkness.

"Now is that any way to treat a lady?"  His voice was quiet, but no less threatening…a chilling whisper.

In one fluid motion, the man in black reached under his coat pulling out two automatic weapons.  With guns blazing, the rounds found their mark.  One by one, the men fell screaming to their deaths in front of Ian Christian Nottingham, Sara's self-proclaimed protector.

Stepping in front of her, with no regard for his own safety, Nottingham took out five of the men nearest her body.  Two of the thugs in the back turned and ran, fleeing for their lives.  Nottingham had been careful not to shoot indiscriminately, having noticed the street people trying to seek shelter from the flying bullets.  He had taken notice of the three homeless people as he had followed Sara earlier.  He would have pursued her enemies to finish the job, but was too concerned for her safety.  Besides, it would not hurt for the men to tell their tale to whoever had hired them.  He knew his stature would grow exponentially as the men recounted the story of the army they had faced while trying to kill Detective Sara Pezzini.  Being defeated by just one man would not look good on their resume.

After making sure it was safe for him to turn his back and attend to Sara, he knelt by her side, gently removing the fallen brick and stone from atop her.  Removing his gloves and sticking them in his coat pocket, he brushed the dust and debris from her face, running his fingers along her lips, allowing himself a fleeting moment of affection with her.  Focusing on the here and now, he quickly checked for broken bones or other injuries.  Her head had a knot on it that would give her headaches for days.  Although any swelling from an injury would take a bit more time to develop, he was reasonably sure she was not seriously hurt.  Her pulse was steady and strong and her breathing seemed regular.  As he pulled open her eyelids, her pupils seemed to react normally to the dim lighting from the street.  The rest of her injuries were only minor cuts and lacerations.  None requiring stitches.  Still, she would need some medical attention.

_Why had she not used the blade? He wondered._

Before he could think further, sirens in the distance caught his attention, distracting him from his intimate moment with Sara.  Turning his head, he knew they would have to leave or face many questions neither was prepared to answer.  Cradling Sara's unconscious body in his arms, he pulled her to his chest, resting his chin on her head in a caress.  Without a thought of the dead men behind him, he held his beloved Sara in his arms in silence.  He would have given anything to take her home with him…to watch over her…take care of her as she healed.  He knew he was in no position to offer her a stable environment in which to mend for he was in hiding from his former employer…his father…billionaire Kenneth Irons, a powerful man.  It would take all his cunning to stay ahead of Irons himself.

He had no doubt this onslaught on Sara had been ordered by Irons.  It pained him to know that he had brought this fight to her door.  His act of selfishness…trying to be free of Irons…had almost cost his beloved's life.  He had come to the torturous realization that he needed to stay as far away from Sara as he could.  Yet he still needed to make an effort to defend her with his life if he needed to do so…protecting her as he had done tonight…for she would have surely died had he not intervened.  How he would accomplish this, given his covert status, he did not know as yet.

No…He had nothing to offer Sara…but perhaps he knew someone that did.

Sara moaned quietly, stirring in his arms.  Nottingham kissed her forehead and whispered into her ear…only loud enough for her to hear.  It seemed to provide some comfort for she fell limp into his embrace.   He held her close to his chest.  In his years of isolation growing up under Irons' tutelage, he had learned to heighten his listening skills.  Slowing down his own heart rate and tuning out all else, he focused his attention on one thing…her heart.  He listened ever so intently and could swear that their hearts beat in unison…for they were connected across time…beyond what this life held for either of them.  

He proceeded down the narrow street to the _one place she might be safe._

*****

With Led Zepplin's _Stairway to Heaven playing innocuously in the background, Gabriel Bowman was ravenously streaming through the Internet, absorbed in his laptop.  The glow from the monitor cast a bluish haze on his face in the darkened room.  He had been so engrossed in his pursuit of the perfect addition to his own personal collection of Celtic artifacts that he had failed to notice the sun had gone down and put on some lights in his apartment.  His computer monitor had been the only source of light for the past several hours.  He had been nursing the same bottle of beer for the last hour.  It had warmed to room temperature but he had not noticed with his last sip.  A half-eaten apple had browned from neglect as well, his attempt at dinner.  Gabe was the sole proprietor of Talismaniac, an __off the beaten track shop specializing in rare and exotic relics of mythic proportion.  Gabe himself was a believer in the road less traveled, preferring retro fashion and music.  He had been born a little too late for his taste, so he infused his life with the things he preferred._

Like the interior of the Talismaniac, Gabe's apartment was a clutter with all of his interests.  Anyone visiting him would know immediately what turned him on…from his extensive 70s music collection…to his eclectic montage of scholarly books…to rare comics…and his personal assemblage of Celtic relics…to name but a few.  Gabe never saw the purpose of displaying such valuable items in a glass case.  He wanted to surround himself with his treasure everyday.  

Growing up, Gabriel had disliked any form of organized, institutionalized education.  He had not the patience for another's idea of quality education and curriculum.  If he was not in class, his teachers always knew where to find him.  The library was his source of personal inspiration.  His parents had learned to appreciate his method of self-teaching, smiling as his teachers, on Parent-Teacher Day, always came around to the obligatory lecture on tardiness and absenteeism.  How can you fault a kid who goes AWOL from his classes to study in the library, for crying out loud?  Gabe had never lost his unquenchable thirst for knowledge…he knew he never would.

He had barely gotten through high school as a consequence of his own learning practices.  When it was time for college, he never followed a course study or made an appointment with a faculty advisor.  He sought advice from professors he respected on his curriculum and chose only those courses that intrigued him.  He never received a college diploma in the traditional sense but his reputation in antiquities and authentication had grown so significantly that his old professors had made requests for him to be a guest speaker at many of their symposiums.  His speaking engagements were always well attended and very popular with the students.  His young age and his level of expertise and enthusiasm for the topic were a novel concept for the students that were nearer his twenty-five years of age.  Being considered an expert without certification had always made him smile for it was ironic that he was continually paid to provide his expertise for symposiums at the very university that had denied him a diploma. 

So, as he sat in his tie-dye T-shirt and faded jeans with holes in the knees, he scoured the chat rooms looking for more things that intrigued him.  Framed with thick dark lashes, his large brown eyes speckled with shades of gold, stared intently at his computer.  His five o'clock shadow darkly shaded his chin and jaw line, which accented his pale skin and offset the natural cherry color to his full lips.  He had the build of his father, standing nearly six feet in height with a very slender, lanky frame.  His jet-black hair and good looks had come from his mother along with the angelic name she had chosen for him.  His guileless face and innocence was always misinterpreted by many and mistaken for naivete and gullibility.  Those entering his show room for the first time constantly mistook him for an hourly employee, requesting to see the owner.  He had always responded with a gentle smile, saying, _"You're talking to him."  He had used his youthful appearance to his benefit in many negotiations on behalf of his patrons.  _

Those that had tried to take advantage of the young entrepreneur soon learned he was a shrewd negotiator with an eye for the rarest of oddities and collectibles…_and definitely knew his way around a negotiating table, having learned these skills from his father.  Gabriel's father, Samuel Bowman, loved to haggle.  Sam had always teased that he had bargained for the hand of his wife Kathryn, Gabe's mother, this being a continual joke between the good-natured couple.  It had been true that Sam would dicker on just about anything, just to keep in practice.  It had become a game between Gabriel and his father.  Their bartering exploits had become legend, at least in their __own minds._

Gabe's parents had both died in an automobile accident several years ago.  They had given him all the tools he would need to make a life for himself, but they had never known just how successful their only son would become.  Yet, Gabriel was sure that in some cosmic sense, they had witnessed it somehow.  He was a big believer in the connectivity of the universe and all its inhabitants.  At least, it gave him comfort to think of his parents looking over his shoulder…on most things.

He took another pull from his beer.

"Oh…Jeez.  That's _nasty…" It was time to stop his internet ramblings when he started to notice the warm beer…that usually did not distract him…so he knew he was coming back to reality…the reality that he was __now talking to himself._

A distant rumble of thunder diverted Gabe out of cyberspace, reminding him that the storm had passed while he was enmeshed in the Internet.  But like the whisper of a premonition…he was left with a foreboding feeling that had subtly taken hold of him.  

He could not shake it.

*****

Sara began to struggle for consciousness in his arms as Nottingham neared the apartment house he knew to be Gabriel Bowman's.  For her sake, Ian was thankful her friend Gabe lived on the first floor with a private door obscured from the street, giving Ian some semblance of privacy when he would leave Sara.   She groaned, burrowing into his shoulder, beset with pain.  Nottingham's voice had reached into her subconscious and beckoned her to awaken.  Under the solitary lamp illuminating Gabe's front door, Nottingham gently laid Sara down on the step.  He brushed back her hair and cradled her sore head to his chest for a moment in an effort to say farewell before he departed.  It hurt to leave her when he knew she was hurting.  As he stood, she grabbed his arm clumsily.

"Ian…" Her voice was so faint.

Crouching down in haste, he regarded her anguished expression with a slight tilt of his head, as the tears welled up in his eyes.  She looked so frail and small sitting there alone.  His heart ached for her.  Perhaps she would not remember this…that he was here and had left her.

"He will take care of you…It is too dangerous for us to…to be together now."  He choked on his words as a single tear rolled down his cheek.  "Forgive me…Sara."

Before he could change his mind and stay with her…causing irreparable harm…Nottingham stood and pushed the buzzer to Gabe's door.  Kneeling, he kissed Sara's forehead once more, holding her limp hands in his one last time.  Her fingers and arms seemed so frail…not able to bear the weight of the world as she was now expected to do with the Witchblade having chosen her as its wielder.  Reluctant to leave, he walked back the way he came.  He did not try to hide his pain as the tears started to flow.  

He had just left his beloved to another.

*****

"Who the hell could be buzzin' me at this time of night?"  Gabe was accustomed to his friends calling at odd hours but this was unusual even for them.  

Without undoing the chain on his door, he peered through the opening.  He had not seen Sara at first until she moved and muttered something unintelligible.  He rushed to release the chain, then stepped outside kneeling down next to his friend.  He caught a glimpse of a dark figure as it rounded the corner.  He did not have to see the man's face.  He knew it was Ian Nottingham.  Wherever Sara was, Nottingham was _never far away.  _

What the hell was he doing with her…to her?

"Ian…" Sara murmured, unaware that Gabe was by her side.

"He's gone Sara…He can't hurt you any more."  Gabe looked her over before attempting to lift her, not knowing the extent of her injuries.  She was covered with cuts and bruises, a layer of dust on her clothes.  Anger gripped him.

"No…Ian…" Sara's words caught in her throat as she passed in and out of consciousness.  Gabe lifted her with some effort, stepped into the threshold of his apartment, and kicked the door shut behind him.

"No Ian…You're right, Sara.  He's gone.  He won't be hurting you again."  Gabe set his friend on his bed.  He made an ice pack for her head and set the alarm clock to wake her in a couple of hours, making sure her head injury was not more serious.

As he attended to her wounds and checked her over painstakingly, he was becoming more enraged.  Why had this happened?  Nottingham was an assassin and definitely a serious dude to be avoided, but this seemed…over the top even for him.  As his more rational thoughts took over, he realized that if Nottingham wanted to harm Sara, he would not have brought her to his doorstep, knowing he would help her.  Her body would have never been found…or perhaps she could have defeated him using the powerful weapon on her wrist.  Examining Sara closer, he realized something was _very wrong.  _

The Witchblade was gone.  

Gazing upon his unconscious friend as he threw a comforter over her, he wagged a finger  and said.

"You've got some 'splainin' to do, Lucy."


	2. Chapter Two - Breach of Faith

****

Chapter Two – Breach of Faith

"A man cannot touch the petal of the nearest flower without influencing the course of the furthest star. Everything is connected. Every action has many effects."

Kenneth Irons

How long he had been unconscious by the hearth he had no idea. The consuming blaze was now just red embers only dimly lighting the Great Room. He was alone. The room had taken on its familiar chill. Even the wolfhounds had abandoned him. The storm was only a distant rumble and a light rain pattered quietly against the windows. It took him a moment to recall what had transpired. Sitting up in his favorite chair, physically drained and consumed by a barrage of images that he could only partially recall, his thoughts turned to Sara Pezzini.

"So, fair Sara. It has abandoned you after all. Perhaps you are not what you seem." His voice was but a whisper in the dark. 

Her fear at almost loosing her life was palpable enough, even if he _had_ experienced it vicariously. It had exhilarated him beyond words. Sara's shame and disgrace, at having been abandoned by the very weapon she would now crave, infused him with rapture at her expense. His intimacy with the blade was only a moment in time, but it had a lasting impact on his life…and had left an indelible mark on his very soul.

His powerful connection to the wielder and the blade, that he had experienced earlier, was strangely severed. The only residual affect was his link to Sara's pain…her withdrawal from the Gauntlet. This was more born from his own encounter and memories than from any actual bond to her now. The gentle coaxing of the rain beckoned him to another fleeting moment in his ever-lengthening history. Closing his eyes once more, he drifted back to another time.

The Okovango swamps in Botswana had been the culmination of his many years in pursuit and obsession with the Witchblade. His blood lust for power had grown to such depths that only the ancient weapon could satisfy his thirst for it. She had made the mistake to accompany him to the swamp…under estimating their love for one another when up against the intoxication of power as the weapon held for him. His beloved Elizabeth Bronte refused him the blade. He thought he had meant more to her than that. Yet she had refused him. This betrayal demanded immediate and swift action on his part. Before his conscience sought another avenue, he had arranged for a mysterious embankment slide to consume and smother her.

Finding the weapon firmly affixed to her wrist from her own Periculum, he had the Gauntlet removed by cutting off her hand…the very hand that he had caressed on many occasions. He now held the power in his own grasp. Leaving servants to retrieve her cold flesh, he sought a solitary moment to wear the blade himself.

As he slipped the ancient amulet to his wrist, his chest swelled with pride as he had accomplished his life's mission. His sense of well being was short…for the Gauntlet exploded in its own retaliation. His brief yet excruciating moments with the powerful weapon that was meant only to be worn by women, had indelibly imprinted his mind and body with visions of epic proportions. As a result, his normal aging process had been slowed down and he was forever connected to the blade and its wielders with only the scar on his hand as a visible sign of his offense. He had considered himself lucky that the weapon had not taken his life that day. Yet, in a way, it had. For he would be obsessed with the Gauntlet and all that would and could wear it.

There had been a ringing in his ears…an incessant sound. The annoyance had brought him back to the present, which may have been a mercy. It took him a while to recognize the ring of his personal cell phone that he had attached to his belt. Only a few people knew his number…and he doubted his beloved Ian would be calling to give him his regards. He had expected Dante to report on the success of his assignment.

"Speak to me." He demanded. There was a moment of silence on the other end. In that brief moment, Irons knew that Dante had failed.

"Mr. Irons? This is…" Dante was interrupted by Irons' impatience.

"Bruno…I can hear the failure in your voice. What happened?" Irons clenched his jaw but kept his voice neutral, not wanting to give away just how angered he was by the incompetence of this man. Irons had learned long ago not to telegraph his thoughts until he was good and ready.

"Sorry to call at such a late hour, but I thought you would want to know." Dante was delaying the inevitable. The Captain's apprehension was clear in his voice. Irons closed his eyes in an effort to hold back his rage. He had grown weary of this man.

"Get on with it, man. Report." His voice was venomous.

"They had her down and surrounded…were going in for the kill. They reported being attacked with automatic gunfire. Six of the eight were killed. They couldn't tell me how many there were…only it felt like she had an army behind her." The Police Captain reported.

Even Dante himself had not believed the story. Where would Sara get an army to defend her? He only knew of her army of one. Dante suspected Nottingham had been the army for he knew his tactics and skill could resemble a legion of men.

Irons had come to the same conclusion, for he had trained this army of one.

"After your men have investigated the scene, I want a full report of what they find. You have displeased me, Bruno. I am not accustomed to such failure." With that, Irons ended the call, leaving Dante with a bad feeling. He had not heard the last of it, the Captain suspected.

Dante's report was inconsistent with what Irons _himself _knew. Sara's _army_ had been a fighting force of one, Irons' own Ian Nottingham. This troubled him. Deep within his soul, where the Witchblade had marked him for life, he knew Sara and the blade had parted company. This _was_ a certainty. He could not ask the good Captain to search for the Gauntlet without raising more questions. Perhaps Dante's follow up report on the crime scene would shed some light on what might have happened to the blade if Sara was not in possession of it. At that moment, he missed his home grown assassin. Young Nottingham would have served him with his usual loyalty and discretion.

A delicious thought popped into his devious mind. A slow smirk spread across his face. If Nottingham is indeed with Sara, then he will bear witness to Sara's abandonment. He will _know_ the blade has left her. Irons had seen to it that Nottingham's training to serve the wielder was so strong that this should prove to be a conflict for him. If Sara is not the true wielder, then Nottingham may be forced to come home to his master for there would be no reason to further protect Sara Pezzini, the pretender. He was reminded of a quote he had taught to young Ian… _'Take the cause from a man and you take away the cause for a man.'_ Even if Nottingham tries to help her, he will soon see how pathetic she will become without the blade. It is like a drug that once administered in regular doses becomes unbearable if taken away suddenly. Even though Irons' own experience with the blade had been brief, he knew the magnitude of Sara's misery must be amplified ten fold. Sara had already bonded with the symbiotic weapon through the Periculum, a right the ancient weapon had not chosen to bestow upon him_. Her pain must be catastrophic!_ He smiled at the thought.

Once Ian sees how repugnant she is without the weapon, he will no longer want to serve her, Irons thought. Surely he would see she no longer had a right to the ancient weapon…that it should now belong to his master. Perhaps there was a chance his assassin would return home of his own volition, realizing Sara was a mere Pretender. Nottingham's rigorous and methodical training would compel him to return to his master and await Irons' appointment of a new wielder, one more pliant and controllable, completely subjugated to his will. 

Irons wanted to speak to his young protégé about this, but knew he would remain underground until such time as he thought it was safe to emerge. Perhaps keeping Nottingham isolated and alone, at present, was not a bad idea. As a young boy, Ian had been raised by Irons to believe that isolation meant safety. Irons was reminded of the many games of chess he and his faithful servant had played together. As Nottingham had grown older, he became less predictable and had learned well from his master as evidenced by his unexpected departure from the Estate and Irons' control. What would Nottingham do in _this_ instance?

Irons arose and made his way in the dark from the Great Room to the bedroom he had selected to sleep for the night. It was his _'habit'_ to change rooms nightly. He smiled as he saw the irony of his use of the word habit when speaking of change. There was nothing about him that was habitual… perhaps with the notable exception of his obsession with the Witchblade. As he crept slowly up the stairs, a shred of doubt slithered into his mind like a slow moving snake in the underbrush. What would Ian's reaction be to Sara's abandonment by the blade? What if he had underestimated Nottingham's feelings for Sara as a woman? He had assumed his inexperienced minion would not understand such feelings, having no sexual prowess in the least. It has been drilled into young Nottingham's head that virginity shielded a warrior with invulnerability. This had been one of the reasons Irons had kept him devoid of such emotions and tactile experiences as Ian had grown up under his tutelage. 

Irons had _himself_ witnessed Sara kissing Nottingham, but it had been _her_ that made the advances, _not_ him. Nottingham had showed poor judgment to allow Sara to touch him the way she had, but he was an innocent and infatuated child in the ways of love. He may have felt powerless to stop her, feeling an obligation to serve his Lady Sara. This public display had angered Irons…and provoked him to call for Ian's suicide in the first place. Still…Could Nottingham love her?

"Love? …Out of the question." Irons muttered aloud, scoffing under his breath. He dismissed the idea as having no merit. 

He made a mental note to contact Dante in the morning to call off the contract on the life of the good detective and hear about the crime scene. He would instead order her be watched by Dante's men to see if Ian would contact her again. Being as thoroughly trained as Nottingham had been, he would spot the surveillance easily, no matter how good Dante thought his men to be. Ian would keep away from her one way or the other. On the off chance that his prodigal son could get careless, then Irons would find out where he was hiding and ensnare him. Once he had Nottingham back under his control, he had no doubt he could convince his purveyor of justice to yield to his will and willingly return to his service. The surveillance would also help him know if Sara ever finds her long lost bracelet. 

It was a good plan. 

If he had been feeling particularly charitable, he may have made the call to Dante now, but he wanted the Police Captain to loose sleep over their last phone call. He smiled contemptuously in the dark as he removed his clothing and prepared for bed by the dim light of the moon as it shown through his bedroom window. Normally, he wore silken pajamas to bed, but tonight he felt a primal need to be unfettered by convention, slipping his naked body under the silken sheets. He was reminded just how much he enjoyed the feel of silk next to his bare skin. He relished the dark even more…the anonymity of it. In the dark, he could almost see and feel his thoughts adrift in his mind…images flashed before him with such clarity.

Where was the Witchblade if not with Sara? Where indeed? The scar on his hand began a slow burn.

*****

Nottingham had been restless from the moment he had left Sara on Gabriel's doorstep. It could have been attributable to the fact he had abandoned Sara by leaving her on Gabe's step, but that did not seem right somehow. Something _else_ had seemed wrong…but he could not place it. Walking past a stack of the morning edition of the New York Times bundled on the street, he noticed a headline about the shootings in the alley. It was not the first time he had been responsible for making a headline…and it would not be the last either. He had walked the streets of New York City all night, replaying the incident with Sara over and over in his troubled mind. Now, as the sun was beginning to rise, he found himself by the docks. The salty smell of the ocean and decaying fish carcasses invaded his senses.

One question kept returning to him. _Why had she not used the Gauntlet? Why?_

Leaning on a wooden railing looking onto a pier, deep in his _own _introspection, he absentmindedly witnessed the dawn of a new day as the sun rose one more time on a world Ian no longer felt a part. His long black coat and leather gloves barely kept him warm as a cool breeze wafted through his long, dark hair, chilling the cheeks of his face to the numbness he felt inside. As the dark blue and orange slowly streaked across the sky like the tendrils of the blade during the Periculum, Ian began to understand…He _knew_ what had happened. The thought hit him as surely as if it had been carried atop a bullet, tearing through his chest.

Sara had not used the blade because she _could_ not. Replaying his last moments with Sara…on Gabriel's doorstep…he held her hands. He was so distracted by having to leave her to someone else that he had not noticed. She was not wearing the Gauntlet on her wrist. The only way this could have happened, _after_ the Periculum, was that the Witchblade had abandoned its' wielder. 

Could this be true? No! _This_ he would _not_ believe.

Sara was the true wielder. There were many things in this world that he did not understand, but he had lived a lifetime…or perhaps many lifetimes…in preparation for the coming of Sara Pezzini. The blade had selected her just as surely as he had chosen to serve her with his life. He knew and believed in her. There was no room for doubt.

He turned and ran towards the alley where his beloved had made her final stand. He would find the blade and return it to his Lady Sara…if it was the last thing he would do on this earth.


	3. Chapter Three - Broken Bonds

**Chapter Three – Broken Bonds**

_"If the Witchblade did belong to me, you can be assured that it would not be on your lovely, little malnourished arm.  And you can be further assured that your arm would be a great distance from your body."_

_Kenneth Irons (to Sara)_

For a brief moment, she could feel no pain.  Her eyes were closed and heavy with sleep.  She was too warm and comfortable to move.  She had only just become aware of a woody scent in the air.  It took her a while to place the smell…incense.  Her mind flashed to her childhood memories spent in the cathedral across from her elementary school.  The smell of incense had brought her there.  As she shuffled her feet down the aisle, in her school uniform, her footfalls echoed in the large domed place of worship.

"Sara?"  Her best friend Maria had whispered her name, hoping to coerce her into a bit of mischief.

"Sara?"  She heard her name again, but Maria had not spoken it.  Her friend was giggling now.  Her laughter wafting down the aisles, past the elaborate wooden carved pews and the angelic images forever cast in stained glass above_. Whose voice had it been if not Maria's?_

"Pez?"  As she opened her eyes, she caught her first glimpse of the angel that had come down from the vivid, beveled stained glass from above.  His face was a faint image, for she was nearly blinded by the intense light shining just behind him, casting a halo like effect around his delicate features.  _Pez?  She questioned._

"It's Gabriel."  She heard him speak to her more clearly.  

She found herself trying to recall her catechism lessons regarding Archangel Gabriel.  Before she had made too big a fool of herself, the face of Gabriel Bowman became clearer.  His angelic good looks and hazel eyes gazed upon her with such innocence and warm familiarity.  It was no wonder she thought she had died and gone to heaven.  As she recognized him, a slow smile spread across his face.  His long, black hair was tousled around his face as if he had just awakened…of course, he _always had looked this way to her. _

"Gabriel?  Gabe?"  She stammered.

She sat upright immediately realizing she was lying in a bed that was not her own.  She regretted her decision to move for her head felt like it was about to burst, spilling what was left of her gray matter onto his clean bed linens.   _Ouch…That was not an image she needed to see this early in the morning._

"Wouldn't suggest trying _that again.  Here…this should help."  He said quietly._

Gabe gently held a bundle of ice cubes in a towel atop her head.  The chill sent shock waves through her head and neck but the numbness would soon be a welcomed friend.  She put her hand on his, allowing him to pull his cold fingers free of their burden. As soon as he could see some relief in her face, he handed her two aspirins with a large mug of java and continued.

"Noticed you are a bit light on the jewelry today, Pez.  What happened?  And don't leave out anything on your avenging angel…I saw him leave after he brought you here."  Gabe crossed his arms in front of him as he sat near her on the bed.  He raised his left hand to his lips and awaited her response in his usual patient way.

Looking down to her bare wrist, Sara had to think about what he was asking…not being very clear on the facts.  She remembered being in danger…the shootout…and only vaguely recalled her savior Nottingham.  As she closed her eyes for a moment, she could hear Ian's whispers in her ear.  Even now, her recollection of his gentle, quiet utterances gave her comfort.  Her green eyes opened slowly.

"Nottingham was there…I think he saved my life."  Gabe waited patiently as she found her own way to tell the tale.

Holding the ice pack to her head and taking slow sips of her coffee, Sara filled her friend in on the details of the ordeal that had nearly cost her life.  As she was satisfied she had conveyed all the salient points; Sara grew quiet and worked on her coffee.

"That's a lot of fire power for one scrawny girl like you, Pez.  I know you're tough, but eight guys?  Come on…" Shaking his head, Gabe stood and walked to the nearest window, gazing upon a brightly sunny afternoon, a sharp contrast to the previous night.

"Yeah…that bothered me, too."  Sara finished her coffee and set the mug on his nightstand.

"What?  Me thinking you're scrawny or the fire power?"  If Sara had been feeling better, she may have anticipated his strange sense of humor.  She normally had a smart remark herself.  She made a mental note to zing him another time when she was more herself.  _Paybacks are a bitch, Bowman!_

"The fire power, smart ass…" He glanced her way with an impish grin as she continued.  He knew he would pay later.

"I think Irons had something to do with this…but I can't figure out why."  She stared absentmindedly at the foot of his bed.  "I tell you what, Gabe.  I think my ass was a goner…if it hadn't been for Nottingham.  The last thing I remember is getting whacked in the head with what felt like a boulder.  They could have easily taken me out.  He must have stepped in somehow."  She puzzled.

"Stepped in? Yeah, I'd say he did _just that."  Gabe had retrieved the morning Times and dropped the front page on her lap.  The headline was calling it a massacre._

"Gabe…I'm going to have to ask you to keep this to yourself for now…until I figure out what's going on.  Okay?"  She asked.

Gabe trusted Sara.  Ian Nottingham was another story.  The assassin scared the hell out of him.  He considered her request, then nodded.

"Yeah…that's cool.  Not sure how I feel about Nottingham, Sara, but I'll let you do what you need to do.  No problem."  He approached her bedside and grabbed her coffee mug from the nightstand.

"Want another?"  He asked…knowing what her answer would be.

"Does Madonna own a thong?" She smirked.

"That's my girl."  Gabe grinned and turned toward his kitchen; glad his friend was here with him to enjoy his coffee…_and discuss Madonna's lingerie choices._

*****

Kenneth Irons had spent the afternoon pouring over one of his most prized possessions, the ancient text that had first brought the symbiotic weapon known as the Witchblade to his attention.  When he was a teenager, he had become accustomed to spending his summers in the Mediterranean at the home of Guillermo Joaquin Quintanilla, a close family friend.  Of course, if his family had known just how _close a friend he was to their only son Kenneth, they would have had the man shot.  Guillermo had been a man of the world and knew many ways to give and take his pleasures.  Admiring him greatly, Kenneth was more than willing to be __taught the ways of the flesh by the man, despite their age difference.  Guillermo proved to be a patient lover and allowed his apprentice many liberties as his confidence grew.  With his exploration, Irons learned he preferred female companionship but was not adverse to the new and alternative experiences of offering oneself to another man._

One particular summer, after Guillermo had spent an extended and carnal afternoon pleasuring his young houseguest, he had spoken of his many travels and proudly opened an ancient text prominently displayed in his extensive library.  It was Kenneth Irons' first exposure to the powerful weapon that would soon possess him.

Thereafter, Irons had become enthralled with the Gauntlet, seeking every bit of knowledge as to its existence.  No lead was too small or insignificant for him to pursue.  He chased every eye witness account, seeking every rumor or story that had been passed down through the years.  His hunt grew cold at times, and dead ends were prevalent, but his interest never waned.  At long last, he found Elizabeth Bronte through a newspaper clipping from the British Museum…and the rest is history, as they say.

The ancient text he now had in his possession was a part of his legacy from his mentor Guillermo upon his death.  Prior to the man's untimely demise, Irons had found out his benefactor was going to leave him with a large sum of money, the summer home on the Mediterranean, as well as the ancient text that he had sought so desperately to possess.  Of course, it did not take Guillermo long to have a fatal_ accident soon thereafter.  __How fortuitous! Irons thought to himself upon hearing of the man's __fate._

After spending the afternoon researching the text for any references regarding abandonment of the wielder, Irons found enough to suggest that a wielder in the year 2000 would influence time and causality. And as a result, would be subjected to a great test…a test that would surpass any other coming before her. The text further spoke of the resurrection of a powerful talisman thought to be dormant.  He could not interpret whether this Talisman would help or hinder the wielder.  Nothing more was said.

What could he draw from this?  A dormant yet powerful Talisman shall resurrect? He had thought himself to be an expert on the subject of Objects of Power.  Acquisition of the Longinus Lance had been his goal for several years.  He believed the Lance to be far more powerful than the Witchblade.  Perhaps this is what the text had referenced.  He vowed to step up his efforts to acquire the Lance, making it a mute point whether Sara got the Gauntlet back on her malnourished little arm.  He would be able to defeat her…preferably leaving her in shame and degradation, smiling at the thought.

The wielder would influence time and causality?  He was perplexed over this point but encouraged that perhaps he could be the one to mastermind her test…and perchance her demise if she fails.  This expectation pleased him immensely.

Perhaps it was also time to find a replacement for Ian.

*****

After spending a considerable amount of time with Gabriel trying to recuperate, Sara had finally made it back to her loft apartment.  Gabe had taken her to Mike's Pool Hall to retrieve her motorcycle before she headed home.  She would have expected to feel better having iced down her bumps and bruises and taken several doses of aspirin, but she found herself with an ever increasing headache and a case of the shakes that was disturbing.  Her temper had a short fuse also.  Loud noises and idle chatter seemed to irritate her to an extreme…as if her brain chemistry was out of whack.  A dull pain in the pit of her stomach had started escalating as she unlocked her front door.  She found herself torn between chills and flashes of heat that sent her body into a chaotic state.

She had not confided her deteriorating health to Gabriel, for she suspected her need to retrieve the Witchblade with its symbiotic connection to her, had been the driving force behind her withdrawal like symptoms.  Not understanding all this herself, she could not admit such a weakness to her friend Gabriel…not yet.

Another thing she could not even admit to herself, let alone her friend, were the circumstances surrounding the abandonment of the Witchblade.  She could not face seeing doubt in his eyes for she already had it in her own.  There was only one person that had witnessed the blade's betrayal.  Nottingham was the only one with which she wanted to speak.   

Ian's eyes and his heart would know the truth.  

Checking her answering machine, she found several messages…all from her partner Danny Woo.  She suddenly recalled that she had forgotten to call in sick today, leaving her partner in a lurch, without so much as a call.  Danny had tried to cover for her, but soon was out of excuses.  She dialed his number.  He answered on the second ring.

"Hey, Danny.  It's Sara.  Sorry for not calling, partner.  I was and still am under the weather." 

"I was just scrambling this morning…didn't know where you were is all.  What's up with you?"  He asked with concern.

"I may have some kind of flu bug.  I got the shakes…fever…chills.  Not sure.  May need to get to a doctor.  What's going on?  Anything?"  She replied.

"I tried your cell.  Do you have it off for some reason?"  Her partner asked, never having a problem getting a hold of Sara on her cell phone in all the years they had worked together.

"No…I think I must have misplaced it.  Can't find it anywhere."  Sara knew this sounded lame.  The silence on the other end of the line confirmed that.  Danny had heard of other officers being careless with their phones on occasion, but this seemed so out of character for his partner Pez. Trying to cut her some slack and give her the benefit of the doubt, he continued.

"Did you hear about the massacre on Lincoln and 47th street?  Six bodies, Pez.  McCarty and I are working it together until you get back, I guess."  Danny liked working with the rookie Jake McCarty but preferred his long time partner Pez.

"Well…count me down and out for now.  Not sure when I can make it back."  She tried to keep her voice even and steady.

Trying to cover the pain in her voice, Sara's head and stomach had her almost doubled over.  Her upper lip and forehead had started to sweat.  Feeling clammy and faint, she sat down near the phone to see if this would give her some needed relief.

There was a silence on the line.  Danny was confused by his partner's response.  In the last three years, Sara had only been sick maybe five days tops…and she was always eager to get back to work, preferring the tension of the job to the idleness of being home sick in bed.  Something did not ring true.

"Are you alright, Pez?  Is there something you're not telling me?"  He asked.  She could hear the concern in his voice.  Her partner was damned perceptive, too.

"Danny…try not to read anything into this.  Can't a girl be sick once and a while.  I _do get sick leave you know.  Lord knows there's not much in the way of benefits to this job but sick leave is one of 'em.  Just cover for me until I feel better, okay?" She pleaded._

She could hear a long sigh on the other end of the line…and could visualize the look on his face.  She knew he would trust her on this…at least for a while.  His concern for his friend and his partner would not let her string him along indefinitely.

"Take care, partner.  Call me if you need anything."  The line went dead.

She was alone with her thoughts once again.  Her link to Danny and the outside world was severed for now.  

Standing with a start and spinning, she thought she heard someone whispering behind her…near her right ear.  Feeling a presence, she caught her breath, remembering the scuff of a shoe had preceded her harrowing ordeal last night.   She could not make out the words…the muffled voices seemed to surround her.  She grabbed for her gun and pointed it halfheartedly around her empty apartment…knowing the sounds may be of her own creation…coming from inside her head.  She had always associated the voices with the Gauntlet, but with it missing, why was she still plagued by them?

_Was she going insane?  STOP!  Make them stop…PLEASE.  She pleaded to no one._

*****

The penthouse office of Kenneth Irons at Vorschlag Industries was massive and hidden down a hallway the length of a football field.  The reception area resembled command central for NASA, complete with all the latest and even some cutting edge technology.  Irons' office was located to the left of this and secured behind a pair of 20-foot stainless steel doors.  The office décor was very spartan, modern and cold…a striking similarity to  its occupant.  Flat-screen security television monitors were placed strategically around the room with control panels determining the view.  The high tech lighting was indirect and made the room appear dark if it were not for the diffused light projected into the room from an opaque overhead skylight above Irons' desk.  Being interior to the rest of the prime office space in the building, the room appeared to have the capability of a defense bunker, the last bastion of safety should the building come under siege, complete with its own heliport on the rooftop.

Irons had struggled with his empathetic connection to Sara as she experienced her own living hell without the blade. This had been the case for a good portion of the night, but the bond to her had grown noticeably weaker and by morning was virtually nonexistent.  He would miss his union with her.  It had a certain erotic and voyeuristic quality to it.  He had begun to let himself believe the weapon would soon be back in his hands once again.

Irons had spent the morning at his office reviewing the credentials of his security personnel.  After making a few phone calls and soliciting advice, he had selected Randall Briggs from the group.  Briggs was thirty-four years of age and had been with Vorschlag for three years in security.  Standing six-foot tall and weighing two hundred and ten pounds, Briggs looked like he could handle himself.  He was skilled in martial arts and was proficient in weapons…an excellent marksman on the range, at least.  He had not been an ideal employee, but his evaluations reflected a person of ambition.  Irons had found that hungry employees would do his bidding without question…within reason.  

By contrast, Nottingham's obedience was born of his years of training since childhood…Irons' instruction had been stringent and extensive.  He had created his faithful servant and a perfect assassin as if from a mound of clay.  With cutting edge genetic engineering and chemical enhancements, Nottingham had undergone extensive psychological and physical tests to insure he was the very best.  What could not be injected or taught to Ian was what he had an abundance of above all others.  The one thing Ian had, that no one else would have, was his undying loyalty and devotion.  Irons knew Nottingham would die for him without a thought for his own well being.  One could not buy that kind of loyalty.  Still, for the time being, Briggs would have to do until Ian returned.  He called security and sent for the man.  His private line rang.

"Yes?"  Irons answered with conceit in his voice…as always.

"Mr. Irons?  Dante here.  I have some news you might be interested in hearing."  The Captain was pleased to provide this little morsel to Irons, trying to get back in his good graces.

Irons had already spoken to Dante this morning, calling off the hit on Sara and initiating the surveillance on the detective.  Dante's crime scene investigation made no mention of the finding of any bracelet, so Irons would not have to have to explain to the Captain why he would want to retrieve a piece of jewelry from the evidence room.  With the police on the scene only minutes after the shooting spree, Irons was perplexed how the Witchblade could have disappeared until he asked about witnesses.  Dante had informed him that several homeless men had been questioned.  This bit of information, along with the names of the witnesses, might prove to be helpful, Irons thought.

Dante's little disturbance _now, however, better be good, he thought.  Hearing Irons' silence, Dante continued._

"Seems the FBI has issued some discreet alerts to law enforcement agencies to be on the lookout for your _freak assassin.  He's wanted only for questioning…for right now.  Seems there was an anonymous tip that Nottingham has left your employment…and may be disgruntled.  Do you want us to find him?  Maybe take him out?"  Dante let Irons take this all in._

Irons detested the man's presumption.  His referring to Nottingham as a _freak was a direct insult to Irons himself, for he had created Ian.  Dante never comprehended this.  Irons always ignored the slurs but the man was really starting to annoy him beyond reason.  Dante and all his men put together could not assemble enough skill to shed even an ounce of Nottingham's blood much less __'take him out' as the Captain so rudely put it.  Once Ian was back, Irons wondered if he shouldn't order Nottingham to eliminate Dante __and his men just for the sport of it.  That would certainly be entertaining to say the least._

Trying not to be distracted by Dante, Irons knew that the FBI had him under close scrutiny for many years…perhaps decades.  He had always prided himself on being several steps ahead of them.  Now, with Nottingham out of his direct control, the FBI may have found a chink in his armor.  Ian could conceivably assure himself immunity from prosecution in exchange for his testimony against Irons, turning state's evidence.  

Other men would have been worried over this development, but Irons had no doubts about the loyalty of Nottingham.  He had raised him from a child.  His training and loyalty were too strong.  With the FBI on the lookout for him, this was further reason for Ian to go deeper underground.  He could spot a fed easily.  No…his son would keep his distance from the FBI.  He knew Ian would not betray him.

A stab of paranoia teased at the periphery of his mind, however.  After all, he would also never have suspected Ian to be capable of his recent betrayal either, even if it had been precipitated by his own hand.  All the more reason to get Nottingham back in the fold.  After all, he _was family._

"Let me worry about Mr. Nottingham.  I appreciate your concern, Captain, but Ian would not betray me.  I assure you."  Before Dante could voice his retort, Irons disconnected the call.  When his phone line showed clear, his secretary notified him of his next appointment.  There was a knock on his office door.

"Enter."   Irons raised his head and smiled, giving the impression of pleasantness.  His subterfuge was similar to the female praying mantis that was more than eager to engage in a little foreplay before devouring her mate whole…while still in the act of copulation.

"Mr. Irons?  Randall Briggs.  You asked to see me?"  The young man had piercing blue eyes and a very forthright approach.  Directing Briggs to the chair in front of his desk, Irons began.

"You have come highly recommended, Mr. Briggs.  I have a special assignment for you.  Of course, this will call for your discretion."  Irons lowered his head, tilting it to one side, as if he were about to impart a confidence.

"Of course, Mr. Irons.  I have waited a long time to meet you.  I understand Mr. Nottingham is away on assignment.  I just want to offer my services in his absence."  Undoubtedly, Briggs thought his offer was a show of confidence in his own abilities…when Irons perceived it to be cockiness.  Nonetheless, Irons smiled, not giving away his true feelings.

"You feel up to _that challenge, Mr. Briggs?"  Irons waited for the young man to smile, feeling confident, before he continued.  "Don't presume too much, Randall.  Let's see how you do with this assignment, shall we?"  The smile on Briggs' face vanished as quickly as it had appeared._

Irons briefed Briggs on his new duties.  He would be assigned to recover some jewelry of sentimental value rather than of real worth.  Irons showed the young man a photo of the Witchblade as a bracelet.  He had explained that a jealous lover, Sara Pezzini, had stolen the bracelet, and that he had wanted it returned for personal reasons.  Irons explained that the detective had been involved in the shootout at Lincoln and 47th street and presumably had lost the jewelry from her wrist at that time.  Irons also shared the names of the so-called witnesses so Briggs would have some leads.  That was all he had to go on.

"Retrieve the bracelet without incident…and with complete confidentiality…and we'll see about your career at Vorschlag.  Do I make myself clear, Mr. Briggs?"  Irons pressed his fingertips together in the form of a steeple in front of his chin, staring at the young man, making Briggs blink.

"Yes, sir.  May I ask a question, sir."  Briggs was learning not to be so presumptuous.

"Please."  Irons gestured with his right hand, giving the man leave to proceed.

"Am I to understand that the end justifies the means?"  Briggs thought he was being clever.  Irons had _invented clever._

"Yes, Mr. Briggs.  You can presume that.  In fact, I believe that is part of our mission statement here at Vorschlag…if it is not, then it should be."  He smiled, but it was not a friendly one.

As the young man left Irons' office, the billionaire wondered if he would be forced into making another employee contribution to a body bag.  Briggs seemed to think he could replace Nottingham…Irons laughed at his presumption.  No one would pressure him into replacing his Ian.  Since Irons had a hand in his creation, then by rights it should follow that he was the only one permitted to have a hand in his demise.  The absurdity of this correlation would have never occurred to Kenneth Irons.  It was just _his reality._

Leaving Irons' office, Randall Briggs walked more confidently than he should have, wanting to give the impression his meeting had been a success.  Everyone had advised him to take it slow with Irons, to try and fly under his radar rather than doing a direct fly by the control tower, as he had just done.  They had been right.  Irons was an intimidating man…and he had forced Briggs to blink…more than once.  Replacing Nottingham would not be an easy task, but Briggs had not always chosen the easy roads in his life.  His overindulgent parents had seen to it that he never lacked for anything.  Starting quarterback of his high school and college football teams, he was used to getting his way.  Failure was never an option.  He felt up to the challenge.  He had to believe if it came down to face-to-face combat with Nottingham, that he would prevail.  Briggs was sure he was the better man.  He would just have to prove this to Kenneth Irons.

Having made his choice to displace Nottingham, however, he wondered if he wasn't the proverbial moth flying too closely to the flame.  He only hoped scorched wings would be his only concern.  

After all, he had a promising career ahead of him at Vorschlag Industries.


	4. Chapter Four - Alliance

**Chapter Four – Alliance**

_"Always remember…the less emotional attachment you have, the less vulnerable you'll be.  Isolation is safety.  Virginity is invulnerability."_

_Kenneth Irons (to a young Nottingham)_

The upper floor to the old warehouse had not been occupied in a very long time.  It smelled musty and damp.  His footfalls echoed in the cavernous space as he stepped inside.  The door to the west section of the floor creaked as he quietly entered, setting down the canvass bags he carried, containing hastily grabbed articles of clothing, the money he had taken from his father, the illegal arms evidence, and a few well chosen weapons and ammunition from the Estate.  All his _worldly possessions were held in these bags with much of it stolen.  It was a sad commentary, he thought.  Yet, this was the life he had chosen…in order to serve __her._

Ian Nottingham had a total of eight 'safe houses' set up throughout the city of New York and in a few outlying areas.  He had saved money through the years to acquire them, knowing he would need them eventually, taking a cue from his master when he would change bedrooms every night.  Each one of the locations had a floor safe installed.  He had stocked many with clothing, weapons, ammunition, food, water, medical supplies, money, and sundry hidden reserves.  Over the years, Ian had been patient to secure these sites, using the same secretive measures his father practiced when acquiring his wealth and properties.  He had learned well from the man for Irons knew nothing of these locations.  Irons' own ego and presumption had kept him from suspecting his minion of anything other than complete and unwavering allegiance.  A couple of these hideaways were within eyesight of Sara's loft or the Eleventh Police Precinct.  He had acquired _these locations most recently, once he had known the identity of the next wielder, Sara Pezzini._

The room was growing dark.  Only a faint orange haze was cast upon the brick walls of the chamber as the sun was making its descent, fading for one more day.  He had spent the daylight hours scouring the alley where Sara had fought her attackers.  He found no trace of the weapon.  The police had the area cordoned off with their yellow tape and investigators had spent their time looking for clues and evidence.  The bodies had been taken to the morgue before dawn, but the crime scene photographers had remained for part of the day preserving and cataloging even the smallest details of the incident.  He had to be careful not to be spotted.  Many of Dante's own men had been there…and would know him on sight.  He remained hidden for much of the daylight hours, choosing his times to do his _own investigation from nearby rooftops and under cover of darkness after the police had completed their initial investigation…but to no avail.  _

The blade was gone.

The police could have confiscated it as evidence, but if this were the case, Dante's men could have their hands on it.  Would Irons have let Dante know he was looking to secure the bracelet?  Knowing the man, he suspected his master had not been so forthright about it.  He had planned a visit to Captain Dante anyway.   Perhaps he would ask him directly about this…along with other points he would want to make clear to the Police Captain.

Nottingham had killed the only other remaining witnesses.  Sara had been unconscious and may not be of help in this regard.  His thoughts drifted to the three homeless people he had recalled seeing in the alley.  Having a photographic memory, he would remember their faces if he were to see them again.  Perhaps they would know what had happened to the blade.  It would give him something to take his mind off what his beloved must be going through by now.

He had resisted peering out of the dirty west windows towards Sara's loft, but now he just wanted to see her face.  With his gloved hand, he cleared some dirt from the nearest windowpane.  His stomach growled for he had not eaten all day.  He searched the windows across the street, looking for just a glimpse of her.  The loft was dark, except for the room nearest the fire escape.  He knew from experience that her kitchen and living room area were just inside.  He had spent one night in Sara's bed, holding and comforting little Annie, a small child that had recently lost her mother to a crazed serial killer.  Little Annie had touched him deeply, and having Sara to awaken to, made him yearn for something more…making him question his choices to blindly serve Irons.  It was also Ian's custom to sit on Sara's fire escape or use it to make small overtures of groceries and other treats for her, without her knowledge.  She had affectionately started to call him her stalker.  

He still had not seen her.  

His back was beginning to ache.  Even the old scars under the fresh wounds had begun to hurt.  He was burdened by the memory of just how he had acquired his most recent injuries.  His master had found him being less than honest about his recent trip to Paris on Irons' behalf.  Nottingham had returned home from a highly successful trip, one that made his father a richer man…if that were _even possible.  Nottingham had made him millions of dollars in arms sales, far exceeding expectation in that regard, yet Irons had reacted to his deceit, for Ian had tried to cover up the fact he had returned a day early…to see Sara.  Irons had not tempered his anger.  He chose to administer a brutal lashing as punishment.  Nottingham's mind drifted to that day…He could almost feel the pain once more._

Ian fought to stay upright, but could not stand.  He had sunk to his knees as the Estate's security personnel freed him from the shackles that bound his cut wrists.  Shaking with the pain, he could not raise his head.

"You put up with this to stand between me and the wielder.  You know this…and I know this."  Irons revealed, attired in clean clothes once again.  The clothes he had worn earlier had been stained by Ian's own blood.

Nottingham could not see him, nor did he want to see the man that had just lain open his back.  It took him a long while before he could stand with the assistance of a nearby wall and a strategically positioned chair.  Still, he had not cried out in agony, not wanting to give his abuser the satisfaction.  Irons had watched his exertion without aiding him.  He almost did not hear Nottingham's faint response.

_"Do with me what you will…I have long since stopped caring."  Ian left the room with as much dignity as he could muster._

Blocking the painful memory from his mind, Ian tried to remember the last time that he had cleaned the wounds.  Perhaps it had been two days.  He had at least a week's worth of antibiotics remaining of a supply generously provided by Irons' and his physician, the one who had stitched him up after the beating his father had _also been generous in giving.  Growing up under Irons' tutorship, it had never been difficult to acquire antibiotics or pain medications…a side benefit he wished he had not found necessary.  Retrieving his medical supplies, he found a bottle of peroxide.  Removing his long, black coat and his black turtleneck sweater, he poured the stinging solution down his back, hoping it would be enough to stave off an infection.  It would have to be.  He winced with the pain, yet he knew there was no comparison to the agony she must be feeling with the excruciating anguish of withdrawal from the ancient weapon.  He had heard of this from Irons' own experience once he was old enough to appreciate his father's confidences._

Shirtless, he began to shiver with the chill in the room as the effervescing action of the peroxide had intensified.  Closing his eyes, in this ever darkening and lifeless space, he deepened his breathing, thinking of the last time that he had been truly happy.  It had been the last day he held little Annie in his arms…and kissed his beloved Sara for the first time.

_"Farewell, Sir Ian.  I love you."  Annie had conveyed to him telepathically._

_"No more than I love you, My Lady."  Nottingham would miss his angel._

_Nottingham's eyes welled with tears, making it hard for him to see Annie's face as it grew smaller and smaller.  Genetically enhanced sight did no good if tears obscured the view.  Nottingham and Sara stood together on the curb long after the cab carrying Annie away had rounded the corner.  They both knew that their reason for being together the last few days had just departed.  They would have to find another reason to stay together._

_Looking into Sara's eyes, Nottingham had wanted to kiss her, but knew he had no right to expect it.  It was as if a prayer, that he would not have dared to vocalize, had finally been answered.  He gasped with the first touch of her lips to his…for Sara had taken the initiative.  Wrapping his arms around her, he did not know where to put his hands, anxious that he might hurt her in his zeal.  He drew her to his chest only to find her body fit perfectly into his.  As the tip of her tongue parted his lips gently, he was astonished at the sensation.  Chills shot through his body as their tongues intertwined.  He gained more confidence as she reacted to his growing desire.   He never wanted this moment to end._

Yet, it had ended…and here he sat, alone…unable to comfort her.  

His alert eyes caught movement in Sara's loft across the street.  He knelt by the window to get the best view.  By the light of a solitary lamp in the living room, he could see his beloved as she clutched her stomach in obvious pain.  Her face was contorted with it.  As she rocked with her anguish, Nottingham found himself moving in the same fashion…in a _different kind of agony.  He desperately tried to will her pain to cleave to him, freeing her of it.  If this were possible, he would have done it long ago._

Wracked with her suffering, Sara would not be able to function like this.  His mind and body had been trained to protect the wielder…but his heart had grown to love the woman _behind the blade. Given his situation, he could do nothing for her, not as a protector, nor as a man.  His mind filled with his __own disdain for he was powerless to help her.  Even from this distance, he could see her tear streaked face.  His __own tears had started to course down his cheeks, as he rocked in silence._

Nottingham had long admired Sara's courage and strength of character.  Her fearlessness far surpassed his.  Just the fact that she was willing to unselfishly give her life in service to others, first in her police work and now with accepting the Witchblade as its wielder, trying to stalwartly bring justice to a chaotic world.  As he was reminded of this, he wanted to take a page from her book, to find a way to change their situation.  Surely, there was a way to do this.  

Earlier in the day, Ian had noticed one of Dante's men in surveillance of Sara.  Just as he had suspected, he would not be able to make contact with her without being scrutinized.  It would only be a matter of time before Irons would know where he was hiding, for he would never be far from his beloved.  Irons would surely see to it that he was killed or severely beaten, neither option would provide _any assistance to Sara in her search for the blade.  Having seen the Witchblade __choose Sara, Ian knew she was a true wielder, without question.  _

He had faith in her…but now he would have to have courage as well.  He needed to trust another soul…besides Sara.  He could not remain in isolation.  Growing up under Irons' thumb, he had been brainwashed to believe that isolation was safety.  His heart rate escalated just thinking about reaching out to another person…to make contact and _ask for help.  He had sought Gabriel Bowman's help before with Sara…trusting his beloved to the man.  Now, he would have to trust his __own safety to him…__and Sara's future.  All he knew, at this moment, was that he could not continue to see her deteriorate.  He would __not stand idly by and watch her suffer.  _

He would have to borrow a piece of her courage.  Her life depended on it.

*****

The doors to Talismaniac had been closed for at least two hours, but Gabriel Bowman was not a slave to the clock.  He enjoyed his work and was busy with a new display of illuminated manuscripts.  The lighting on the display case needed to be just right to capture the soft, radiant pages of the gilded text.  He stood back and admired his work.  The brightness of the light blinded him for a moment.  His attention was totally on the manuscript; otherwise he might have seen a dark figure moving soundlessly towards him in the shadows just beyond his peripheral vision.

"Good evening, Gabriel."  Nottingham's voice was quiet, almost a whisper.  Yet, the sound of it made Gabe jump a foot.  Spinning to his left, the young man turned to see Irons' assassin within his reach…or rather; _he was within Nottingham's reach._

"How did you get in here?  I thought I locked the door.  The store is closed."  His attempt to appeal to Ian's sense of fair play with adherence to his store hours was futile.  He failed to realize that prosaic rules did not apply to Nottingham.

The larger man clad in black started a slow roam throughout the store, but even though his eyes seemed to be focused on the rare inventory, Nottingham _never lost sight of the young man.  Those eyes made the hairs on the back of Gabe's neck curl.  Gabriel realized after several minutes that he had not taken a breath.  Only his burning lungs forced him to gasp, bringing in some much-needed air.  Gabe was amazed at how quietly Ian moved…as if he were floating in space.  If he had not seen him with his own eyes, he would swear he was still alone surrounded by the silence of his store._

"I am sorry to intrude."  Nottingham was now less than two feet from Gabe_.  If he were intent on harm, now would be the time to inflict it.  Why would an assassin be here unless it was to do what he does best…assassinate? Gabe thought.  Seeing the fear in the young man's eyes, even though Gabe was trying to hide it, made Nottingham soften his stare. He looked down and tried to trust this young man to do the right thing.  He had come too far for Sara's sake._

"I have come to ask…" Nottingham turned his head, as if he were struggling with the proper words. "I need your help, Gabriel." Ian's jaw tightened but he kept his eyes downcast.

"You? You need help from me?  What?  You having a music CD crisis and need to find just the right party mix?"  Gabe was still in shock with Nottingham's request.  "You thinking of having a kegger with some retro 70s music and want to check out my collection?"  Gabe thought his own voice sounded like that of a stranger.

"I am assuming that you are attempting to lighten the tone with a bit of humor, Gabriel…but I am really _not in the mood."  Ian raised his eyes to look directly into the young man's soul._

_Oh great…just pissed off the most deadly man on the planet…besides Arnold Schwarzenegger…Not a smart move, Bowman! Gabe thought._

"Sara's life is at stake.  Please.  Assist me in helping her."  Ian pleaded_.  "I cannot risk her life by aiding her directly…I need you to act as a go-between…so I can serve her through you."__  Nottingham seemed almost human, operative word being 'almost', Gabe thought.  Gabriel strengthened his backbone and his resolve when the conversation shifted to his friend Sara, under the pretense that he had more courage than he actually possessed at the moment.  Every time he looked into Nottingham's eyes, he felt a chill that seemed to grip his heart with icy, malicious fingers._

"Look…I don't know what your intentions are with Sara.  She was pretty…banged up the other night." Gabriel raised his voice and squared his body off, facing the man he feared.  He gave a false sense of bravado that was soon dashed when his voice cracked like he was still in puberty.

"How is she?" Ignoring Gabriel's insolence, Nottingham asked what he truly wanted to know.  His concern was apparent.  It was all reflected in his eyes…when he _wanted it to be.  _

_What was up with this guy? Gabe wondered.  He stared at the larger man for a long moment, not sure what to make of the situation.  Trying to get his heart back in his chest and keep his breathing from sounding like gale force winds, he calmed down._

"She's fine…just some bumps and bruises.  She took a pretty good hit on the head."  Gabe watched Nottingham's reaction.  It seemed to pain him to hear of her injuries.  Gabe thought it was about time to take the offense.

"Tell me something.  Did you take the Witchblade from her?  Does Irons have it back?"  Nottingham's reaction to his words seemed genuine.  His head snapped up, as if he had been slapped.  Anger flashed in his eyes at the impertinence of Sara's friend.  Stepping to within inches of Gabriel, pinning him up against his lighted manuscript display case, he coldly confronted him…more force of habit than out of any real animosity for this man.  He had to force himself to understand Gabriel did not know about his devotion to Sara or he would not have accused Ian of such a transgression.

With Irons' assassin in his face, Gabe caught his breath and held it, being reminded just how fragile life could be.

"I would _never betray her like that…She is the __true wielder.  I am __sure of it."  Ian spoke with such conviction.  "I have been…" He paused, catching the words as they came from his mouth.  He was not used to trusting anyone else…but he __must…for her sake__.  Trust him, Nottingham reminded himself.  He backed off of Gabriel, giving the man an opportunity to release the breath Ian knew he had been holding._

As Nottingham stepped away from him, Gabe emptied his lungs and closed his eyes giving a brief moment of thanks to all that was cosmic in the universe.  Gabriel had never seen such a passionate reaction from a man that Gabe thought could kill with the same detached ease as throwing out a discarded gum wrapper.  Despite his anxiety around Nottingham, Gabriel's attention was now totally given to this dark and enigmatic stranger that truly seemed to care for his friend Sara.

"I have been looking for the Gauntlet…to place it back in its rightful place…on Sara's wrist."  Nottingham was not sure Gabriel believed him.  He must find a way to gain the man's trust…just as he struggled to place _his trust in return.  Ian needed to speak candidly with Gabriel…say what was in his heart.  Sara needed their alliance._

"It is my belief that the men in the alley were connected to Captain Bruno Dante.  He is the leader of a corrupt band of police officers calling themselves the White Bulls…who sometimes work in conjunction with orders from Kenneth Irons, my former…employer." Nottingham had never spoken against Irons in this manner.  Even though his master had severed the ties between them, it pained him to betray him like this.  Yet, for Sara's sake, he would do the unthinkable.

"Sara is still in danger…and you, if you continue to help her.  She is under their surveillance."  Nottingham conveyed the unvarnished truth, wanting to know just how determined Gabe was to stick by Sara.

"Being a friend of Pez has _not been the safest move I've ever made, but you don't expect me to turn my back on her, do you?" Gabe turned his head toward Ian with concern in his eyes as if asking for the man's guidance._

"No…it is my hope that you continue…to be Sara's friend.  She _needs you…to give her what…what I cannot."  He replied fervently but with a catch in his voice.  He fought back the tears at having to say these words…that Sara needed someone other than himself._

"Why?  Why would they single out Sara…and try to kill her?"  Gabe really wanted to know the answer to this question.  He wondered if Irons' protégé would provide it.

"I believe that my father…my employer was seeking retaliation against me…for departing the Estate…the way I did."  The anguish in his eyes was also reflected in his carefully chosen words.  _Father? If Nottingham thinks of Irons as his father, then how can this man be trusted? Gabe thought._

"Why did you leave, Nottingham?"  It wasn't just idle curiosity.  Gabe _must know his answer if the dialogue was going to continue.  He did not want to intrude into the man's private affairs, but if the reason for Nottingham's departure had brought this hell to Sara's door, then he wanted to know if this arrangement to act as go-between with Nottingham would add fuel to an already out of control fire._

Ian knew he must answer this truthfully, but this was all too personal…too agonizing to reveal to this stranger.  He would have to stop short of the complete truth.  He wasn't even sure that he himself could face the complete and unvarnished truth.

"My master…severed the ties that bound us together…irreparably, I am afraid.  I could not stay any longer."  A solitary tear rolled down his cheek.  Images of that day flashed into Nottingham's head…His _own father asking him to commit suicide and providing the __very weapon to do it.  He turned his head to hide the tears welling in his eyes, but Gabriel had caught the glistening trace of a single tear as he turned to look away. "Please…do not press me to say anything more."_

It was obvious to Gabriel that his question was an intrusion into something quite personal for Nottingham.  Trusting his judgement, he let it drop and moved on to his next question.

"Why do you want to help her?"  Gabe asked, more willing to listen to Ian's response.  In quiet reflection, it took Nottingham a moment to respond.

"Since I was a boy of eight…I have been in training to serve the next wielder.  I was there in the Midtown Museum when the blade made its choice.  It _chose Sara Pezzini…just as it had been foretold.  Irons never understood that.  In his insolence, he wanted to circumvent the blade's will, intervene somehow.  He was wrong __then…and he is wrong __now to interfere."  Nottingham's voice was thick with his conviction…and his love.  Gabe wondered if the man knew he was in love with her._

"What if she isn't the true wielder?  What if she is just Sara, the cop…not destined for anything but a lousy pension?" The man named for an archangel was playing devil's advocate…with the devil himself. 

Gabe watched Ian carefully. If Nottingham had trained his whole life to serve the wielder…_and had fallen in love with Sara the woman, then he must be in __agony over this.  __Would there be room in Nottingham's life for Sara, the Pretender? Gabe wondered._

Nottingham had been pacing the aisle next to Gabe. His breathing had escalated.

"Call it an act of blind faith, Gabriel.  There is _no doubt in my mind that Sara Pezzini is the true wielder.  She __must be!  I have __seen it…had dreams about her from other lifetimes…we have known each other in other lifetimes."  Nottingham stepped within a foot of the younger man, beseeching him with his eyes, as if Gabriel had the power to make it all true._

Gabe had gotten the distinct impression that Nottingham was trying to convince himself.  There was no room for doubt because there couldn't be.  In Nottingham's mind, life would not exist for him if Sara were not a part of it…with or without the blade.

Before passing judgement on the choices Nottingham had made in his life…from his very childhood to now, Gabe wanted to speak to his friend Sara.  Surely, she and her self-proclaimed protector would have spoken about his feelings for her.  He had observed Ian being so cryptic with her that maybe this was not the case_.  If he had been as ambiguous as Nottingham when asking women on dates, he would still be a virgin for cryin' out loud, Gabe thought.  __How did this man ever get laid?_

As he now looked upon the man himself, Gabriel was reminded that he had looked into Nottingham's background out of his own curiosity after having a conversation with Sara.  His natural inquisitiveness and concern for his friend compelled him to launch his own research campaign into the sketchy details of the assassin's life.  Even with all Gabriel's abilities and affinity for detail, he could find no birth certificate.  It was only Kenneth Irons' love for the camera that permitted Gabe to find photos in the news media of Irons and his protégé in various stages of Nottingham's upbringing. Irons himself never seemed to age.  Gabe also noted that when Nottingham was in the photo, it was never in the forefront.  As he grew older, Ian's presence could only be found in the obscure background behind the unconventional billionaire…_his father, as Nottingham had just admitted.  Gabriel also noticed that Nottingham's facial expressions had grown more submissive and passive over the years.  _

And something else could be seen if you looked hard enough.  A growing sadness was present in the assassin's most expressive eyes, even now.  Gabriel had guessed that Ian was nearer his age than what was reflected in his demeanor.  He could only imagine how his _own life would have been influenced by the unthinkable upbringing of Kenneth Irons._

Gabe was beginning to understand that Ian had done something extraordinary however…he had opened up to another person, knowing how difficult it would be…taking the risk to selflessly help Sara.  He had witnessed a metamorphosis tonight as the legendary assassin Ian Nottingham had transformed into a _real human being.  Gabriel extended his hand to the man._

"What can I do to help?" Gabe offered.

Nottingham knew why Sara valued this man's friendship.  His integrity was there in his eyes _and in the simple gesture he was now making.  Removing the leather glove and his ring Excaliber from his right hand, clutching them both in his left, he grasped Gabriel's hand and shook it solidly.  _

"Thank you, Gabriel." Ian simply replied. "I will not betray your trust."

The alliance had been struck, but would the two of them be enough to make a difference.


	5. Chapter Five - Death's Harbinger

**Chapter Five – Death's Harbinger**

_"The line between clarity and insanity is slender…transparent…and easy to cross."_

_Ian Nottingham_

He had found himself asleep in front of the television again, still in his work clothes.  The hissing static was a familiar sound.  It was after one o'clock in the morning according to the red digital clock nearest him.  Tomorrow, he would pay for this with a stiff neck.  Since his wife of fifteen years had divorced him, Bruno Dante had fallen into his own rhythm.  He no longer had to worry about another person's needs or care whether someone did not like what he was eating or watching on TV.  His appreciation of this had lasted perhaps a week, then even _he drove himself nuts…with his own boring company.  Everything she had said was right…but __so what?  __He was living La Vida Loca, man!  At least he could lie about his sex life to all the men in his department that thought he was a lucky man to be single again._

He had been renting this small, cheap furnished apartment month to month, thinking his situation was only temporary.  Well…temporary had turned into almost a year.  Stretching his back, he made his way to his bedroom, turning off the lights as he went.  The dirty dishes would have to wait for another night.  Of course he had said this for the last five nights.  The place was taking on a certain smell…fast food…beer…and old laundry.  He had not realized how much his ex-wife Gloria had done for him.  She had gotten the house, the furnishings, and many other concessions so he would not be forced to pay alimony.  He wanted no ties to her after their divorce.  Maybe he'd have to break down and find someone else.  Someone to take care of him.  He knew he could hide his true nature for as long as it took to find a wife again.  Then, it would all depend on her patience…_and her tolerance._

He cleared the old newspapers from the top of his unmade bed, not remembering the last time he had changed his bed linens.  Dante was oblivious to the signs of depression, not realizing how debilitating the symptoms could be.  A single lamp burned on the nightstand as he flipped the bathroom light to start his shower.  Liking it hot and steamy…like his sex…he let the water run full as he stripped to his bare skin.  He caught a glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror.  Gravity had done some terrible stuff to his once Adonis-like body, but he was still noteworthy, he thought.  The mirror began to fog up, making him able to lie to himself better.  Leaving the bathroom door open a crack, he stepped into the shower, enclosing the plastic curtain around him.  The temperature was just the way he liked it, reddening his skin as he lathered.  As he began to rinse, his mind drifted to the conversations he had with Irons today.  With his power and money, he could make someone disappear without a trace…as if he had _never existed.  Being an NYPD Captain had its' privileges, however, for Irons would have to think twice before pulling something like that on Bruno Dante, he thought._

Turning off the spray of water, before he released all the steam, he grabbed for the nearest bath towel and started to dry his face and hair as he pulled back the shower curtain.  Stepping out of the tub, he had the towel draped over his head until he looked into the mirror.  All the steam in the world could not have kept away the chill that now coursed through his body as he read the message printed on the mirror.

_Turn Around_

Naked…and without a gun…he was more than defenseless as he caught a glimpse of the dark shadow reflected in the still foggy mirror.  No need to turn around.  He knew who it was.  In that instant, he wished he had chosen a different life for himself…or that he had _never been born.  Ian Nottingham had that affect on people.  Dante slowly turned to face the assassin.  Any words he would have thought to utter were stuck in the back of his throat as Nottingham languidly tilted his head to one side, eyeing the Police Captain…like a cobra slowly rising from its' coiled body, ready to sink its' teeth and inject deadly poison into its' prey._

"Your shortcomings are quite apparent, Captain." Nottingham's eyes were devoid of any humor implied by his remark.  They were also empty of any humanity.  The silence and the tension built up to an intolerable state.  Dante could hear his own heart about to jump from his chest.  He did _not want to die like this.  _

Nottingham had not moved an inch…not even to blink.

"Normally…it is a challenge to get you to shut your mouth, Captain.  What is it?  No dying declarations."  The assassin was taunting him.

Dante had not seen a gun or a knife but he knew Nottingham himself was far more lethal and deadly than any conventional weapon. Irons would not be here to call off his dog.  _This was it!_

"Perhaps you need a little persuasion…an ice breaker."  Still, Nottingham had not moved from the far corner of the bathroom.  He rigidly held his ground with his body taut for action. "What specifically were Irons' orders regarding Ms. Pezzini?  If you answer me truthfully…and I will know if you do…then I may show you more mercy than you would have shown me."

Dante did not know what this meant…_show you more mercy.  He was certain he was going to die tonight, but maybe, there was an outside chance he could survive this.  It was worth a shot.  __To hell with that bastard, Kenneth Irons!_

"Look…you know he hadn't really ordered me to kill her by midnight…it had all been _his set up…to get you to…that night that you…" Dante was digging himself into a hole, reminding Nottingham of his __'suicide' or whatever the hell that was.  "Irons is the one that wants her dead…he is a difficult man to ignore…you know?"_

"Yes…that I _can believe.  His orders?"  Nottingham pressed for the truth._

"He wanted her dead, at first…Just wanted me to bring him her body…as is.  Then, he changed his mind for some reason and now he just wants her watched…he may be looking for you."  Dante's fear would not allow him to tell a lie.  He just hoped he would find just the right thing to say to save his life.  If he could just get through this, he would rid himself of Kenneth Irons once and for all.

"He also seemed interested in the witnesses there that night…the three homeless men."  Dante gave the names of these men to Nottingham, hoping to garner favor.  The assassin took note of the names without giving any indication to Dante that he cared…even though he had cared a great deal.

Nottingham knew that Irons would not have confided in this loathsome man.  That is why he had asked for him to bring back her body…not wanting to divulge anything about the Witchblade to this _peasant.  With his deep connection to the blade, Irons would know that Sara had lost it.  Perhaps this had preceded his change in orders.  The surveillance could be a means to keep him away from Sara in her time of need.  This tactic __had worked, for he could not even come close to her without Irons knowing about it.  It seemed a race had begun…a race to find the blade.  Irons had many resources at his disposal…far in excess of Ian's meager means.  All these thoughts surged through his mind without a single manifestation on his stalwart face for he did not want Dante to know any of this had rung true._

"As you probably already know…I am no longer working for Mr. Irons.  Consider me…an independent contractor…in league and in service exclusively to Ms. Sara Pezzini.  You take her on again, and I will be back…to finish our…_conversation once and for all."  Nottingham made a rather sudden move toward the door that made Dante jump out of his skin.  The move had been on purpose; knowing what reaction it would elicit.   Nottingham smiled very slightly as he turned to leave._

"Oh…and Captain?  Just a word of wisdom with regard to working for Mr. Irons."  Nottingham could tell by the look in Dante's eyes that he had the man's complete attention.

"Never outlive your usefulness."  With that bit of sage advice, Nottingham was gone.

Dante wrapped the towel around his waist and rushed to the bathroom door.  In the seconds that it had taken to do this, Irons' assassin had gone…he was no where to be found.  The silence in the room was deafening.  Not a trace of the man remained.  Dante was reminded of the wake that a shark leaves behind as it glides through its domain knowing it is a supreme killing machine.

_Never outlive your usefulness.  These foreboding words were going to plague him like an incurable affliction._

_Never outlive your usefulness._

*****

_"We cannot continue like this…you and I."_

His own words replayed in this context seemed like those of a stranger.  Plagued by his very words and the images of Ian's face, the nightmare would come to him nearly every night now.

_"…I created you…offering you the ultimate opportunity to serve Lady Sara."_

He thrashed under the bed linens.  His silk pajamas were drenched in his objectionable sweat.  _His eyes…Don't make me see Ian's eyes again! My betrayal of him is always there!  His nightly turmoil was a reminder of a guilt he rejected in his waking hours, eating away at Irons like an insidious and pervasive cancer._

_"…Dante will kill her by midnight…"_

_"…you have failed me, Ian…"  _

_"…make the ultimate sacrifice, Nottingham…"_

_"When can I learn to fight, master?"  Suddenly, he could hear the small voice of Ian as a child.  He was always eager to please his master._

_No….Stop!  Don't say it again!  Irons' torment had reached its' zenith.  The guilt was eating him alive. His past crimes were always nocturnal visitors, never being acknowledged in the full light of day.  Then, he may have to affirm his culpability._

_"…your life for hers…" Had he sounded so cold?_

_No…Don't do it!  Stop!  Irons was pleading to the night…into the darkness.  Tossing his head from side to side…in his own self-inflicted torment._

_"…your life for hers…"_

_"…Do what must be done, young Nottingham…"_

_"…It shall be a mercy…"_

_In his nightmare…he was forever racing to the door of the Great Room over and over…_

_The ear shattering blast of gun fire had ripped through his heart as if stuck on instant replay…his mind conjuring images of Ian as a child, as a youngster who only wanted to please him.  Nottingham had endured the painful genetics enhancements and chemicals, trying only to serve his father.  Irons had cruelly dished out the mental and physical abuse at the expense of his young warrior.  Yet Nottingham had never once raised his hand to his master although he had been given much provocation.  Again, an example of his love and devotion to a man he looked upon as his father._

_It was too late!  _

_There would be no redemption for him…No atonement with young Nottingham.  Too late! He was GONE…and by his very hand!_

_Nooooooo!  His scream jolted him awake, emanating from deep within his soul.  Sitting bolt upright, bound in his sweat soaked bed linens, his breaths came in strangled raspy spurts.  Tears were streaming from his eyes that stung with the mix of sweat…and condemnation.  Shaking with the vestiges of remorse, it took him a few minutes to gain his composure in the darkness of his bedroom.  Irons had to remind himself that Nottingham had __not died that day…but only because of __Ian's own__ doing.  As his father…his creator…he had done __nothing to stop it.  __NOTHING!  _

If he had it all to do over again…

"Hello, father."  It was but a whisper.  

Had he heard it at all?  Or was this a continuation of this same cruel nightmare?

Irons held his breath.  Listening.  His eyes searched the shadows, hoping for a glimpse of his son.  He had not realized just how much he wanted this to be.  A new tear slowly trailed down his cheek.  He reached for the lamp by his nightstand.  

Click.  Click...Click.  The room remained shrouded in blackness.

"I have taken the liberty…" His voice seemed to be coming from the shadows nearest the door…then, from across the room.  "…of removing the bulbs.  I prefer the anonymity of the dark…you taught me that, father." His voice was so intimate…so deadly.

There had been no sound.  If he had crossed the room, it was inaudible…imperceptible.  A partial moon, that sparingly shed its bluish hue into the room as it danced between the tree limbs outside Irons' bedroom window, dimly cast the only light into the room.

"Bravo, young Nottingham.  Well played."  It was all he could think to say.  

"I am what you made me…father."  The assassin's voice was but a whisper that seemed to cascade about the room as if by echo.

He would have to think of the many scenarios to be played here.  If he did not execute this correctly, he would not live through the night.  Not seeing Ian's eyes was very much like being blinded.  He had not realized just how much this had been a part of their _game.  Apparently, Nottingham __had realized it…hence the darkness.  __Bravo! He thought to himself.  __He had taught the boy well.  His heart swelled with pride…and fear._

As if in another chess game with his once loyal servant, Irons hastily chose to portray himself as the benevolent king now an open-armed father, only wanting his son, the knight, back in the fold.  After all, this was not far from the truth.  Nottingham always wanted him to be more of a father…perhaps he could do this.

"I regret my actions…consider this a sincere apology, young Nottingham.  I was not thinking clearly back then, Ian.  I want you to come home, son."  He thought he had sounded genuine.

A flicker of light…a glint from across the room…Something whisked past his ear, brushing his hair back in its' wake.  A loud thud behind him caused him to jump…his heart leapt out of his chest.  He turned to see a knife stuck in the wooden headboard of his bed.  His ear was stinging from a well-placed nick that now was flowing warm blood down his neck and onto his white, silken pajamas.  A gasp caught in his throat as he heard the voice yet again.

"Your arrogance is astounding!"

Nottingham watched his father from the shadows.  He had never seen fear in his eyes as he had at this very moment.  The pale blue eyes that he had grown to fear and respect were searching the room for him now.  It saddened him to see that it had come to this.  He had come to his father's bedroom in the night to show him…to show that he could get to him at any time.  His father had trained him well.  His appearance in the guise of a deadly assassin was important to maintain for now, yet it broke his heart to take this man's dignity in this way.  Ian had wanted to make his threat more clear…say the words that he would kill him if Irons continued to threaten Sara, but he could not bring himself to say them.  Saying the words would be no different than handing Irons a loaded gun and asking him to do the right thing.  Ian knew the pain of this…he knew the feeling of betrayal.  He fought back the tears that were beginning to fill his eyes.  

He _must focus…for __her sake.  __She was his family now.  __She was all that mattered.  He slipped from the room in silence, leaving his father and his past at rest._

"You want me to understand…you can get to me anytime...anywhere.  Isn't that right, Ian?"  No answer.  It was deathly still in the room.

"She is a _PRETENDER, Ian!  You were trained to serve a __true wielder.  __She is NOTHING!"  Irons' screams could be heard throughout the estate…and beyond. _

"She is a _PRETENDER!  __She is NOTHING!  NOTHING!"_

His shrieking wafted through the air to Ian's ears as he hoisted himself atop the far boundary of the grounds.  Straddling the barrier, he turned towards his master's dwelling.  He could not fight back the tears any longer.  For the last time, he looked upon the only home he had known and quietly slipped over the wall.


	6. Chapter Six - The Quest

**Chapter Six – The Quest**

_"Be aware, Sara.  There are evil spirits in human form that tread on this earth.  Look in mirrors, look in shadows, look inside."_

_Ian Nottingham_

The strain was beginning to show.  Normally, Ian Nottingham was a nocturnal creature needing little sleep, seeking freedom from his oppressive life under cover of darkness while his master slept.  He had given his life to another long ago, yet the night had provided some semblance of freedom…some precious moments to himself.  But now, his normally alert eyes were starting to show signs of stress as he endured Sara's torment.  He had a front row seat as he watched her from across the street.  Her pain was his pain.  Dark circles were surfacing beneath his eyes, etching a permanent look of sadness to his habitually somber face.

After his previous night's visits to Dante and Irons, Nottingham had tried to telepathically connect with Sara.  His breathing would become shallow gasps as his eyes glazed over, concentrating on his ability to link with her; he trembled with the intensity of the connection to another human being.  He had been successful in reaching his beloved, but her agony was too great to make himself distinguishable above the din of all the other voices in her head.  He was sucked into the quagmire of her haunted mind, nearly suffocated by her demons as he struggled to be heard.  He thought he could provide _some comfort if she could have known he was with her, but he doubted that she was __even aware of his presence.  Nearly unable to break the connection, Nottingham choked down air as he withdrew from her mind, shuddering as he tried to regain himself.  He collapsed to the floor of the safe house in his exhaustion.  _

After experiencing such trauma, he only briefly caught a fitful hour of sleep; being plagued by yet another dream centering on his ring Excaliber.  In this very vivid dream, he was riding horseback ahead of a legion of wielders, both men and women.  The leader of this group appeared to be a mighty female warrior whose face he had not seen before.  Her raven black hair set off her piercing green eyes.  He found himself peering through the eyes of a male warrior who rode alongside this powerful woman.  The warrior's blood seemed to course throughout his _own body, giving him a connection to the man, even in this illusion.  The pounding hooves behind them filled his mind and his senses with images and vague unexplained memories of this strange union of men and women.  At the peak of his vision, the forceful woman warrior gazed upon him, seemingly peering into his very soul, knowing Nottingham was contained in the body of the fighter by her side.  Her lips moved but her words seemed to drift to his ears moments later._

"Evil abounds…Help the wielder."  She had spoken directly to him.  Her words repeated over and over, reverberating in his mind.  _Evil abounds…Help the wielder!_

He awoke with a start, screaming a name.

"_Banrighinn!"  Breathlessly, he found himself on the floor of the safe house across from Sara's loft, reminded that he was still in search of the Witchblade.  __Why were these dreams clouding his mind now? He puzzled._

Until he found the blade, there would be no real rest for him...or Sara.  

Shaking off the last vestiges of his dream, he glanced out the nearby window.  The sun's position in the sky obscured his view into Sara's loft, so he took this opportunity to force himself to eat.  On his long walk home from the Estate, he had stopped to buy a store of power bars and bottled water, not having the accommodations at his current location to keep much of anything else.  Discarding the wrapper with a toss of his gloved left hand; he bit into the bar with little enthusiasm, chewing each bite methodically as he sat on the floor nearest the window.  It was sustenance, nothing more. Staring into the far corner of the warehouse, he rested his head against the wall and slowly sipped his water from the bottle.  The cessation of sound would have bothered most people, but absolute quiet and isolation had been a constant companion to Nottingham as he had grown to manhood.  He had never felt the need to fill it with idle chatter or mindless noise.  He was comfortable with only his own thoughts to keep him company.

In his mind, he planned his next move as he made himself eat another power bar.  He would begin his renewed search for the missing Gauntlet.  

He _had to do something for her.  Surely, there was __some way he could help._

*****

His eyes opened slowly, having awakened at the sound of a nearby jogger making use of the pathway he had been calling home for the past two nights.  Life went on around him, but _his life had come to a grinding halt after he failed to cope with the smallest details.  The minutiae of everyday living had proved to be insurmountable after he had come home from the Vietnam War.  At first, all he wanted to do was curl up in a ball and hope it would all go away.  Well…much of it did.  After losing their home, his wife had left him, and his kids stopped caring.  Life was getting simpler by the minute and Joe Harrison was as anonymous as anyone could be.  He had even given up his name to the street, as was customary when you wanted to forget your past.  His street name was Lefty, attributable to his right arm being lost in the war._

Deep inside Central Park, away from the eye of the local police, Lefty had found a spot for his cardboard abode under a tunnel.  Only the occasional jogger ventured into this section of the park.  Stretching, he rolled to one side to crawl from his belongings.  As he emerged, he ran into a pair of military boots occupied by a man dressed in black.  Looking up, Lefty was taken back by the intensity of the man's eyes.  

"Good morning."  The stranger said simply in an intimate hushed tone.

The homeless man remained silent hoping the intruder would go away.  He had seen this man _somewhere before.  On the streets, Lefty had heard of a stranger known as Death's Angel.  Over the years, the dark stranger had gotten the name from other street people for life or death accompanied him, making little distinction between the two.  At times, he had shown kindness to many less fortunate, providing money and food on rare occasions.  Mostly, the man doled out death like it was a gift to be shared.  He had not believed the rumors of this man's existence, but the others had described him perfectly, and now he was standing before him.  Death's Angel moved away, allowing Lefty to leave the safety of his box.  He moved with predatory instincts and his carriage bore an air of military discipline with his precise movements._

"Look…I don't have anything you could possibly want." The homeless man began to plead.

"On the contrary…I believe you can help me greatly."  Nottingham sustained his civility, recognizing the man's face from the alley the other night.

"What do you want?  I know who you are."  The words were out of his mouth before he could pull them back.  It was never a good thing to know too much.

Nottingham tilted his head to one side; curious at this man who was beginning to show the courage it took to fight a war.  He spied the green army fatigue jacket, which confirmed his thoughts that the man was ex-military.

"I will gladly share what has brought me to your…door, but I am curious.  Who do you think I am?"  Nottingham bowed his head and softened his facial expression to encourage the man to speak up.  Squirming, it took the homeless man several minutes before he responded.

"On the street…they call you Death's Angel.  I wasn't sure you were real, but here you are…" The man spoke quietly, not looking directly into Nottingham's eyes.

Ian had heard this name before.  This was not the first time _Death had been associated with him.  __Death was a constant companion._

"Tell me your name."  Nottingham continued.

"Lefty."  The older man obediently replied.

"No…your real name…if you will share it with me."  Nottingham was not certain the man would provide his real name, but he wanted to commit the name to memory…out of respect.

"Joe Harrison. Sargent Joe Harrison."  The man raised his chin and looked into Nottingham's eyes for the first time…in defiance.  Perhaps he thought that if he were going to die, it would be with his real name on his lips…along with his rank.

Nottingham slowly reached into his pocket.  Joe Harrison thought today was going to be his last.  Instead of doling out death, as was his custom, Ian Nottingham pulled cash from his coat pocket.

"Sargent Harrison…" Nottingham nodded without taking his eyes from the man.  Ian would have shared his own name with the ex-military man but he preferred to keep his anonymity.  His street name of Death's Angel was appropriate enough, he thought.  "I know you were in the alley near 47th and Lincoln…at the shootout the other night."  

Joe Harrison _knew this man had looked familiar to him.  He remembered seeing him briefly, rescuing the female police officer being chased by those men.  Joe had been thrown back into his __own nightmare with the sound of automatic gunfire.  The sights and sounds around him were no longer those of New York City.  He struggled with reality as images of the war flashed through his mind, almost incapacitating him.  He had sought shelter down a stairwell but broke for better cover after the shooting had stopped.  Death's Angel had killed those men, but the young woman would have been murdered had he not intervened and come to her rescue.  Her attackers were bent on killing her.  Of this, he was certain.  Joe was beginning to gain new respect for this dark stranger who could dispense death as easily as compassion._

"The young woman in the alley lost something very dear to her…a bracelet.  Do you recall seeing it?"  Nottingham peeled off two hundred dollars, holding it in his hand, awaiting Joe's answer.  He knew the man did not have the blade in his possession, not _feeling its' presence as he was sure that he would._

"No…I'm sorry.  Put your money away.  I won't be earning it.  I didn't see a thing."  Joe's voice was stronger.  He would have helped if he could.

"Do you know where I can find the other two men that were in the alley?  Their names?"  Nottingham continued as he handed the money to the man before he could answer.

Joe gave up the names of his _neighbors in the alley.  He provided as much information about their habits so Nottingham could find them easily._

"Thank you, Sargent Harrison."  The dark stranger nodded and turned to leave.  Hearing his name spoken with such respect filled Joe with a pride he had not felt in a very long time.  Joe called out to him.

"This woman…she must be special."  The homeless man ventured.  Nottingham made a half turn, looking back at the man.

"Very special, Joe…Very special."  The voice of Death's Angel was as quiet as a prayer.  

As Joe Harrison turned back toward his belongings, he found a paper sack full of food and more cash stuffed inside to the right of his dwelling.  As he turned to yell his appreciation, Death's Angel was nowhere to be found.  Joe wanted to pinch himself, not sure of reality.  But the food and cash were real enough.  His laughter echoed loudly in the tunnel as he sank his teeth into the first peach he had eaten in ages.

A sad smile crossed the lips of Ian Nottingham as the sound of Joe's laughter reached his ears.  He wished he could have done more for the man…perhaps one day he would.

*****

Randall Briggs had spent the morning searching the alley where the massacre had occurred, ignoring the police crime scene tape that still blocked entrance to the narrow corridor.  _It must have been a real firefight, he thought.  Blood was everywhere.  If Nottingham had been there, and had walked away unscathed, it made Briggs feel a twinge of doubt that he was superior in __all ways to Irons' assassin.  Quickly blocking self-doubt from his mind, as he had done his whole life, he forged ahead, soliciting any information from the homeless trash that he had encountered along the way._

He knew he was getting their _full cooperation after he left each one in a bloodied heap of sweat soaked filth.  They would have admitted to killing Princess Di if he had asked __that question.  He had no doubt about his effectiveness in these interrogations.  It was just a matter of time before he would find __someone who knew __something of the street trash he sought or about the police detective and her blasted bracelet.  It amazed him that a billionaire like Irons could concern himself with such a tawdry matter as a scorned lover…a police detective at that.  Briggs spied his next victim just ahead of him, down a darkened alley canopied from the afternoon sun by taller buildings adjacent to it._

"Where do you think you're going, ass hole?"  Briggs always tried to open up with his usual charm.  Grabbing the man by his collar, he spun him towards the nearest brick wall.  The old man fell against it with a pained expression.

"I'm looking for any information on the shootout at 47th and Lincoln the other night.  Now we can do this the hard way or my way.  And old man, you won't like my way either."  Briggs knocked the wind from the white haired man with a powerful blow to the man's solar plexus, crippling him.  Between gulps of air, the man tried to speak.

"I wasn't…wasn't there, mister…Don't know nothin'." He lied.  It was a pity for him that he was not better at it.  Briggs smiled wickedly, just looking for another excuse to pummel the man.

As Randall Briggs saw it, luck was on his side.  The old man lay at his feet, scarcely alive.  Barely working up a sweat, Briggs had extracted some much-needed information from the old geezer on the other homeless vermin in the alley that night.  Stepping back, the younger man cruelly kicked the old man at his feet for good measure…then smiled as he straightened his tie and wiped blood from his face with his handkerchief. 

He would need a fresh shirt. 

*****

The commotion down one of the alleys off Lincoln had caught Nottingham's attention.  A small crowd had gathered around a man whose legs he could see from underneath the mass of people.  A siren was sounding so he was sure help was on its' way, yet something drew him closer.  He overheard the older man ranting about his attacker, barely audible.  His wounds were severe, perhaps fatal, Nottingham thought.  

"He was looking…for a bracelet, he said.  I told him…don't know nothin' about no bracelet.  He kept hittin' me…even after I gave him the names of the others…kept hittin'…kickin' me."   The man was in considerable pain.

"Tell Lefty…the Preacher.  He's comin' for 'em.  I had to tell…had to."  With that, the man lost consciousness.  Nottingham was familiar with the signs of death.  He was now certain this old man would not see tomorrow.

Nottingham kept well back from the crowd, turning in profile so no one person could see his face.  It seemed Irons' man was ahead of him.  The beaten man was face number two that Ian had recognized.  The old man had been there that night, Ian knew. 

His time was running out…_her time.  _


	7. Chapter Seven - Faith and Loyalty

**Chapter Seven – Faith and Loyalty**

_"Well…It's all just lore, right?  Until it's not."_

_Gabriel Bowman_

The only sounds emanating from Gabriel Bowman's apartment were the keystrokes coming from his laptop.  He had closed Talismaniac early since his mind was filled with the questions he was now pursuing in cyberspace.  Was there any evidence that the Witchblade had abandoned a true wielder _after the Periculum?  Would such a wielder survive the abandonment?  This question had troubled him most of all, for if Nottingham was right about Sara being a true wielder, then he feared most of all that he would not uncover any evidence that supported his hope that she could survive this test.  _

Sara _had survived the Periculum.  This he knew.  She could __not be a pretender__.  Could she? With the facts he had uncovered thus far, this point was confusing.  What was happening to his friend?  Would she pay the ultimate price for wanting to bring justice into this world?  After Sara's ordeal with the Periculum, she had come to Gabriel to ask for more information on other wielders' experiences after having survived being infused with the powers of the ancient weapon.  She shared that her only thought had been to use the blade to level the playing field…to wield its' power on the side of law and order.  Knowing Pez, Gabriel could have predicted that she would have chosen this path for herself.  She would not have wanted the weapon for self-serving purposes as a lesser person might have chosen.  Sara was not like that.  Smiling faintly, his chest swelled with pride as he reflected on her noble nature.  He counted himself lucky to call her his friend._

His smile soon faded as a troubled look spread across his angelic face.  The more information he found, the more he desperately hoped Nottingham would not _ever find the blade…for __her sake.  He was convinced, with the history that was known, that Sara might die if reunited with the Witchblade after being abandoned by it.  The weapon had a mind of its' own, after all.  It seemed to him that they were in uncharted territory and there was too much at stake to gamble with Sara's life.  Then again, perhaps Sara needed it to survive this ordeal.  He shook his head in frustration.  The pained expression on his face could not be repressed._

"You do not look happy, Gabriel."  Came the quiet voice of Ian Nottingham from a darkened corner of Gabe's apartment.  

The younger man jumped as his heart leapt into his throat yet again.  At any other time, Gabe might have been impressed with Nottingham's ability to sneak up on a person, but this point was lost as he was forced to swallow his own heart that had lodged itself squarely near his Adam's Apple.

"Damn it, Nottingham.  Don't you ever knock…like normal people."  With the rush of adrenaline, Gabe had forgotten whom he was addressing.  Gabriel could not hide his double take as he wished he could take his words back.  Ian allowed himself a glimmer of a smile at the young man's brashness.

"You know what they say about old habits, young Bowman."  

The assassin kept his eyes on Gabe as he walked around the room, admiring the various Celtic artifacts, wondrous books, and sundry other displays throughout his living room.  Gabriel's room had his distinctive imprint on it.  It was filled with interesting relics and photos of his family, such a stark contrast to Ian's own room that was so sterile, giving not a clue as to the personality of its' inhabitant.  The reality of a normal life taunted him by comparison.

As Nottingham moved about the room, Gabriel also had his _own observations.  The man looked tired.  The dark circles under his eyes gave testament to his many sleepless nights.  His eyes were alert as always, but a pervasive sadness could not be hidden.  And another key item had not gone unnoticed by the younger entrepreneur__.  Old habits were indeed hard to break, Gabe thought._

"Interesting ring you have there, Nottingham.  Do you mind if I see it?"  Ian turned his head, then looked downward at the silver ring on his right hand.  

It had been a gift from his now estranged father many years ago.  He had worn it on his right hand over the dark, leather gloves that were his constant companions.  He had only known it as Excaliber, knowing that it was forged from the same iron as the Witchblade itself.  There was a connection to the blade he had yet to fully understand…but then again, Ian Nottingham was a patient man.  He turned and walked slowly toward Gabriel, extending his right hand cautiously, taut and ready for action.  Force of habit would not allow Nottingham to relax, even though he wanted to trust Gabriel.

"Oh my god…this is Excaliber, isn't it?"  Gabriel asked, not taking his eyes off the large, elaborately carved silver ring.  Nottingham pulled his hand back in surprise, a threatening look slowly spread across his face.

"How do you know about my ring?"  He asked, the coldness back in his eyes reminded Gabriel of the tenuous nature of their alliance.  The young man proceeded with caution.

"It's my job to know about Objects of Power.  Just found it interesting…when I discovered references to it in my research on the Gauntlet for Sara…a while back.  Like the Witchblade, it's an icon of reputed power.  It's legendary, man."  Gabe gave a weak smile and a casual shrug, trying to lighten the tension in the room.  

Nottingham slowly lowered his eyes, diffusing the situation.  After being given the ring by Irons, Ian had wondered about its' significance…had tried to secretly find information on it, knowing his father _never did anything without an agenda.  There were no coincidences in Irons' world…or his own.  He was reminded of the moment his father had given him the ring during the summer of his twenty-first year.  It had been just before he was to join the Special Forces Unit called the Black Dragons._

_Kneeling at his Irons' feet, in front of the hearth in the Great Room, Ian remembered that he had smiled upon him with pride as he sat in his favorite chair, as if it were a throne.  Nottingham had survived his master's many tests and had undergone the painful chemical treatments and genetics enhancements so that he may better serve his father.  _

_Irons handed a small box wrapped in silver paper to his protégé saying "You have reached the age of majority, young Nottingham.  From hence forward, if you choose to accept this gift, it shall be a sign of your undying loyalty to me."  _

_Ian eagerly unwrapped the gift and opened the small box, looking upon the exquisitely carved ring for the first time.  "It is magnificent, father.  I would be honored to wear it…in service to you."  Nottingham placed the ring on his right hand over his leather gloves.  _

_His father added, "This ring cannot be worn by anyone bearing the sign of the Witchblade."  His master touched the circled scar on his hand that had been burned into his flesh at the time of his brief exposure to the blade before he continued.  "So I am bestowing it upon you, young Nottingham.  Continue to do my bidding…and you shall be allowed to keep this gift as a gesture of your devotion to me."_

As quickly as the memory had flashed in his mind, it was gone.  For a fleeting moment, he had harbored hopes of finding the knowledge on Excaliber that he had sought all these years, through Gabriel, but that would be selfish, he thought.  Before he could speak of this, Gabriel was eager to continue.

"There is a theory that the ring Excaliber was forged from the very metal used to create the Witchblade.  Some say the material may not be of this world, but others claim it is from a similar iron used in making the ancient weapons of Iran.  In Avesta, an ancient prayer book of Persian Zorastrians, it was believed to be an iron-alloy similar in composition to the Gauntlet."  Gabriel knew he had Nottingham's attention so he persisted.

"Throughout history, there have been tales of weapons with supernatural powers.  The one I found most interesting centered around the Mistress of the Blade who went by the name of Banrighinn."  Gabriel's use of this name caught Ian by surprise.  He was speaking of the woman in his dream.

"What do you know of Banrighinn?"  Nottingham could not help but think that Gabriel's mention of this warrior had not been coincidental.  He _must know more._

"All I know is that this Mistress of the Blade led a legion of male and female wielders that she had been handpicked and taught the ancient ways of battle.  As with most tales of men and women, however, Banrighinn put an end to the whole thing after becoming angry with a lover, one of the warrior knights.  After that, no man was ever allowed to handle the blade.  That's the legend anyway…and I'm stickin' to it."  Gabe smiled but he could see that Nottingham had a reason for finding this information helpful.  He had grown quiet and seemed to be deep in thought.

Nottingham was sure that Banrighinn had spoken to him in his dream but for what purpose?  She had spoken of evil…and had asked him to help the wielder. He had thought of little else but helping his beloved.  Right now, he needed to focus on nothing but Sara.  Perhaps he would seek Gabriel's help in the future regarding the ring…if he _had a future.  Without Sara, there was no hope for him._

"Perhaps we can talk more about Excaliber on another occasion, Gabriel.  My time is running short.  I need to impart some information for you to share with my…with Sara."  Ian's voice was as quiet and respectful as Gabe had ever heard it.  It had surprised him.

Nottingham stood in a modified military fashion in front of the young man as if he were reporting for duty. In his customary long black coat and black turtleneck and pants, his head was bowed with his hands behind his back, boots set apart.  His long dark hair was worn loose, now falling forward covering much of his face.  Gabriel could not imagine this man giving himself so unconditionally to Kenneth Irons.  His devotion to the wielder of the Witchblade must be formidable to even _conceive of such an act of loyalty._

"Please communicate to Sara that I draw nearer the blade with every waking hour.  I have gotten the names and possible locations of the homeless people that were in the alley that night.  I believe that one of them has the Gauntlet in his possession." Nottingham conveyed.

"Why don't you think the police took it into custody…as evidence? Or maybe it's still in the alley…somewhere."   Gabe puzzled.

"I have searched every inch of that alley.  If it were there, I would have found it.  Let's just say that I would know if I were close enough to it."  

Ian was not sure how he knew this to be true but his restless nights of late had been filled with unexplained images of a bright light, cutting through the darkness, leading him to the blade.  The visions had been a nightly occurrence since he had left the control of Kenneth Irons.  He had learned long ago to trust his instincts on the ancient weapon for he was connected to its' destiny as surely as he was joined to Sara's.  Gabriel already feared him, he knew.  Nottingham suspected Gabe would not understand this revelation so he chose to keep it to himself for now.

Gabriel suspected that Nottingham was being evasive, but seemed to still be forthcoming with the information for Sara.  Gabe had to trust that his cryptic nature was also discerning when to share the important stuff.  Gabe nodded and let Ian continue.

"I also ruled out the police having it.  It seems Captain Dante was willing to share that bit of information with me."  Ian looked up slightly with a sly smile, barely noticeable.

"What do you mean he was willing to share?  Captain Dante?  The man does _not work well and play well with others, Nottingham."  Gabe questioned._

"Let's just say that he was laid bare…He hid nothing from me.  It seems when faced with his own mortality…Captain Dante communicates quite effectively, young Bowman."  This was as close to a joke as Gabriel had ever witnessed coming from the infamous Nottingham.  One day, Gabe hoped he would be considered Nottingham's friend enough to hear what had _really happened with Dante.  He suspected it might be worth the wait._

"This is one of those times when I shouldn't ask any more questions, right?" Gabe grinned sheepishly and continued trying to break down Nottingham's formality.

"Guess if you told me…you'd have to kill me."  Gabe chuckled, but abruptly stopped when Nottingham only stared intensely into his eyes, unwavering.  Before Gabe could make a further fool of himself, Nottingham nodded with a spark of amusement in his eyes.  The look on the younger man's face was priceless.  The humor was a brief respite from Ian's ongoing torment of late.  

Gabe let out his breath, hoping to soon find a comfort level in his dealings with Nottingham.  His heart couldn't stand the strain of many more instances of Ian's brand of humor.  _The only thing worse than an assassin with a sense of humor…is an assassin without one, Gabe thought.  _

"Let's just say that there are times I really like what I do."  Nottingham added with a shy smile that quickly faded.  "I also paid a visit to my…my former employer Kenneth Irons.  It seems he may not be as easily dissuaded from harming Sara as Bruno Dante.  I believe Captain Dante has seen the light, but my father shall not be so accommodating."  The small joy that had been in Nottingham's eyes was now gone when he was forced to think of his father.

"Look…I know you may not want to talk about this, but why are you now so willing to help Sara instead of a man that you think of as your father?"  Gabe needed to understand this.  He sat back on a stool, awaiting Ian's answer.  It took many moments of silence for Nottingham to find the right words.

"He forced me to choose…between serving him…or giving my life in service to my…to Sara, as the wielder of the blade."  Nottingham turned away, trying to find his thoughts.

"You love her…don't you, Nottingham?"  It was such a simple question, yet it took Ian by surprise that the young man had discovered the truth so quickly.

"It does not matter, Gabriel.  I have sworn my life in service to the wielder.  Beyond that, I have nothing else to offer her."  Gabriel knew these words pained Ian.  His evasive answer did not satisfy Gabe but the younger man was willing to let Nottingham off the hook as Ian continued.

"Gabriel…if Dante is out of the picture, that does not mean the White Bulls will not be called upon to follow Irons' orders.  Someone deeper within the organization may act in Dante's stead.  Please beware…and ask Sara to do the same.  These are contemptuous men without scruples."  Ian warned.

Gabe found it ironic that Nottingham had seemingly high standards regarding personal integrity and ethics for an assassin.

"Look…I hate to be the bearer of bad tidings but I have been researching the history of the Witchblade…trying to find out if this abandonment thing has ever happened to a wielder _after the Periculum."  Gabe just shook his head in response to the questioning and hopeful look he now got from Nottingham.  Discouraged, Nottingham's eyes lowered as Gabriel continued._

"She may not survive this, Ian.  We have to face that fact.  I'm not so sure it is the best thing to find the blade and give it back to her…but I'm also not sure that keeping it from her will save her either.  I just don't know.  It seems this may be a first in wielder history.  We may be making history, Ian."  Gabe wasn't sure he should be calling the man by his first name but it seemed natural…and Nottingham did not seem to mind.  He was wrapped up in his feelings for Sara.

"Every fiber in my being tells me to find the blade and return it to the true wielder, Gabriel.  I have to trust my instincts…just as you have to research this…and continue to be her friend."  The men stared at one another, each firm in their own resolve.

"What if Sara is not a true wielder, Ian?  I am her friend.  I will protect her no matter which way this goes, but you…what will you do?  You've told me you have been in training to serve the true wielder, right?  What if Sara is only a pretender?"  Gabe pleaded his case.  Nottingham did not answer for a long while.  His voice was low and measured when he finally broke the silence.

"My heart will not allow such doubt to enter it.  She is an _ancient soul...one that I have known __well beyond my years in this lifetime.  I __know her, Gabriel.  I have prepared my whole life for her coming.  I knew her the instant my eyes were graced by her beauty and strength."  Ian had closed his eyes, recalling Sara's lovely face in more pleasant times.   Her smile could warm his heart._

Gabriel had such thoughts before of Sara being something ancient.  She was not of this world.  Of that, he was certain.  It seemed he was not alone in this assessment for Nottingham had felt it too.  This may be more due to Nottingham being a kindred spirit, for he was not of this world either, Gabe thought.

If he had any doubts before now, Gabriel knew that Irons' assassin was deeply in love with Sara, the wielder.  There was no room for doubt in _this man's mind.  Gabe had to admire such faith…such devotion.  Yet, there was a reality here that he could not dismiss._

"From what I have found out, Ian…I am not so sure I want you to be successful in finding the blade for Sara.  If she _is a pretender, she may not survive it."  He said softly, knowing Ian would not want to hear his thoughts on the subject.  It took Nottingham a moment to continue, his only thoughts were of her._

"How is she holding up, Gabriel?  Have you talked to her?"  Ian had witnessed her self destruction with his own eyes but wanted to hear a first hand account of his beloved's torment, hoping he had been mistaken about the depth of her suffering.

"I'm gonna see her later tonight.  Haven't seen her since the attempt on her life."  Gabe knew this would not satisfy Ian's anguish over Sara's condition.  If Gabe had loved _anyone the way Nottingham loved Sara, it would be hell on earth to sit by and watch her fall apart…or perhaps loose her battle for life by the very thing Ian would be returning to her.  _

Gabriel knew in that revelation that Ian would not survive this test if Sara died as a result of his actions.  He would not be able to live with that.  Two lives were at risk here if Sara could not survive this, Gabe thought.  _So much was at stake to be __so uncertain.  He wished he had an ounce of Ian's blind faith, but then again, perhaps his resolve came from denial…denial that Sara could be anything but a true wielder._

The two men were deep in their own introspection but continued to hold eye contact.  Each knew that Nottingham would be compelled to find the Witchblade for Sara, believing her to be the true wielder, and Gabriel might be forced to pick up the pieces of his friend's shattered life…if she had one left after this ordeal.

The gravity of their undertaking had been communicated in that one moment of realization between them.  Their lives…and Sara's would be forever changed.


	8. Chapter Eight - A Little Too Much Realit...

**Special note to you great readers of this story:  _I have been thrilled with all your good wishes on Blind Faith.  Those of you who have generously emailed me, or given your more extensive thoughts in your reviews, have touched me with your generosity.  To hear what you especially like or what emotions are stirred with this story is particularly gratifying and make this torturous journey worthwhile.  _**

_I will be traveling on business the week of August 19th and won't post another chapter until Friday or Saturday, so bear with me.  Ian, Sara, and Gabe---yes, and even Kenny---will be riding a roller coaster of emotions before this story is concluded…so hang in there.  Thanks again!_

****

**Chapter Eight – A Little Too Much Reality**

_"Look…my cause is to bring criminals to justice.  I don't need this thing."_

_Sara Pezzini_

_"Your cause is to wield the Witchblade and use its' powers for good.  Your duty is to carry on the line of feminine power that balances this world."_

_Ian Nottingham_

"Come on, Pez.  Open up.  I know you're in there."  Gabriel called out, knocking loudly one more time.  He had knocked on Sara's door three times now.  If he had not known his friend as well as he did, he would have walked away and called later.  

He could hear some movement within the loft apartment, then the deadbolt was sliding open.  She swung the door open but turned her back on him as she returned to a spot she had selected on the sofa in her living room. Without a word of greeting, she pulled a comforter over her thin body, clad in gray sweats.  As he sat in a chair nearest her, he got a better look.

"God…Sara.  You look like…" Gabriel was struggling to find the right word.

"Hell?" She asked.  A strand of hair fell across her sweat-streaked and blotchy face.  Her normally flawless skin was ravaged and her lips were dry and peeling.  The dark circles under her eyes, that he had noticed after her attack, were more pronounced, making her pale skin look ghastly.

"No…Shit!  You look like shit!"  He replied honestly.  He was never one to beat around the bush.

"Nice, Gabe.  Quit flirting with me…it'll just go to my head."  Despite her pained expression, Sara managed a brief smirk for her friend.

Sara winced as her gut began to twist into a pretzel.  She had not been able to hold down any nourishment, only a bit of liquids was all she could manage.  She knew she was dehydrated.  The headache she had from the moment she walked into her apartment door, the day she left Gabe, had magnified into a full-blown migraine.  Her eyesight was beginning to fail her as a result. She was starting another round of tremors from the extreme cold that coursed through her body.  These bouts alternated with the onslaught of heat flashes that sent her to bed near delirium.  Pulling the blanket around her thin shoulders, she cast her haunted eyes to her friend.

"If I would have known you were coming…I would have put on some makeup."  She teased.  Even in her torment, she could still find her sense of humor, to bolster her spirits and act as a source of strength.  It was never more needed than now.  

"You don't _wear makeup.  Why start now?"  Gabe joked, trying to indulge his friend, but his heart was not in it.  "What can I do for you, Sara?  I have to do __something for you."  He pleaded._

As Gabe awaited her response, he thought back to his conversation with Nottingham.  Something in the man's eyes conveyed that he knew Sara was hurting…that her condition had deteriorated.  Gabriel knew that Ian was deeply connected to Sara.  If he had been worried about his friend before, Gabe was close to panic at seeing her this way.  He did not want to worry her unnecessarily, but this was untenable.  She would not survive this.  Perhaps Ian was right that she just needed the blade back for he could not imagine her getting any worse.  

Sara was dying.  He could see it in her eyes.  And even more alarming, he got the distinct feeling that she knew it, too.

"I need it back Gabe…I have to have it."  She implored like a drug addict between fixes.  "I'm not sure how long I can do this."  She shook her head and rolled it to one side as if it were too heavy to hold up.  

_The voices whispered to Sara.  First in her right ear…then in her left.  Intimate breaths of air…incoherent.  She jerked her head around the room, not worrying what her friend thought of her erratic behavior._

_"The blade abandons its wielder…in her darkest hour…darkest…hour!" Ignore the voices, Sara commanded herself.  __Ignore the blasted voices!_

"Ignore the voices…" Sara mumbled aloud, not even aware she had spoken.  

She shook her head as if her eyes and her mind were plagued by images out of her control.  Gabe knew her words were not meant for him.  His heart was breaking as he watched the life draining from his friend by the minute, as he sat idly by.  He understood Nottingham's desperation.  Researching information on a laptop was all _he could do, but Nottingham may be her __only hope, he thought._

"Nottingham came by to see me…his second time now."  Gabe spoke quietly.  

"What did you say, Gabe?  Did you say something?  Nottingham?"  Sara was finding it hard to distinguish his voice from the many in her head.

"Yeah…he came by to see me…a while ago."  Gabriel repeated, almost choking back the words.  He was struggling to hide the tears that were glistening in his eyes.  He knew she needed him to remain strong…for _her sake._

It did Sara's heart good to hear Ian's name.  Her troubled mind drifted to images of his face…and those eyes of his.  Sara smiled weakly as she pictured Gabriel and Nottingham together…in one room.

"Would love to have been a fly on the wall when you two were together."  She joked as best she could.  Gabriel smirked, despite himself.

"Yeah…had to change my shorts.  He scared the shit out of me."  He admitted, shaking his head with a good-natured grin.  "He's okay though…I've kinda gotten used to Captain Crypto."

"He's an acquired taste…that's for sure."  She agreed, bundling herself into her comforter.  Her eyes drooped.

Sara's condition was not getting any better.  He would not have time to wait for her to get stronger before he informed her of his research, so he decided to just begin.

"I haven't…" Gabe struggled at where to start. Sara could see her friend needing prompting.

"Just spit it out, Gabe.  We've always been honest with each other.  Tell me."  She demanded in her own quiet way.  Gabe was reminded again of her simple courage.  She made it look easy.

"I haven't found anything to help you.  No wielder that has survived the Periculum…and bonded with this symbiotic hunk of metal…has ever been abandoned by it…except at the wielder's death.  Not one has re-bonded…Not one, Pez."  Gabriel looked his friend in the eye. "If this has never been done...then perhaps we are making history.  I just don't know."

"Making wielder history…Not sure what to think about that, Gabriel."  Sara had voiced his thoughts too.

"This thing could abandon you forever, Pez.  You may not ever get it back.  By the looks of you…I'm not sure you could survive that.  Do you?"  Gabe asked, holding his breath for her answer.

"Everything in me…wants it back, Gabriel.  That's all I know.  Is it the right thing?  I can't answer that…It might be like asking a heroine addict if he could use just one more fix."  Sara answered honestly, voicing the harsh reality for the first time.  The undeniable facts of her situation hung oppressively in the air with her very own words.

A long moment of silence fell between the two friends.  Gabriel instinctively walked to her kitchen, getting her some water, knowing where she kept her glasses.  She thanked him with a sad smile, touching his fingers as he handed her the glass.  She took a few sips before she continued.

"I don't know what else to do but trust my instincts on this.  My gut tells me I need to get it back.  I don't know if that is the addiction speaking…or some real understanding of this situation, but I have to go with it."  She assessed, speaking slowly and with great thought.

"I think Nottingham would agree with you."  Gabe smiled.

"How's he holding up?"  Sara asked.  

Gabriel was reminded that Ian had asked the very same question about Sara…in the exact same way.  These two were connected all right.  Not wanting to judge his friend and her taste in men, Gabe knew that Nottingham and Sara were linked well beyond this lifetime.  _Who was he to question such a grand cosmic plan? He thought._

"Not good.  I mentioned he had come to see me before?  Well, he told me you are under surveillance by Dante's men…under orders he believes are coming from Irons himself.  Ian wants to use me as a go-between to continue to help you."  Gabe watched his friend's reaction carefully.  She smiled and looked toward the far window, out to her fire escape.  Gabriel knew her thoughts were of him.

"He has been trying to find the blade for you, Sara.  I don't think he is even sleeping." Gabe shook his head with downcast eyes.  "He is _so adamant that you are the true wielder…there is no room for doubt in his mind.  He __knows it, Chief."  Gabe was of __this world…unlike Ian and Sara.  And as such, he could only deal with his own version of reality.  But at this moment, he wished he could borrow just an ounce of Ian's fortitude and clarity on the subject._

Sara could just imagine Ian pleading his case to Gabriel.  Gabe would be the voice of reason but Ian would vehemently hold on to what was in his heart.  She was lucky to have two such passionate men in her corner.

"I think he paid a nightly visit to both Captain Dante _and Kenneth Irons.  From what he's told me, Sara…he has left the reservation.  He is on the run from Irons.  When he went to make his house calls, he probably got Dante off your back, but not necessarily the White Bulls.  Ian thinks someone else will be called upon to carry out Irons' orders."  Gabe continued._

"Guess it would be too much to hope that Irons would have changed his mind about wanting me dead after Ian's visit, huh?"  She rubbed her head with her hand, trying to push the pain from just behind her eyes to someplace deeper, less noticeable.

"He told me that he had combed the alley where you had been attacked…and no Twitchblade.  He thinks one of the homeless people in that alley might have it.  He is pursuing all those leads."  Sara looked at him hopefully.  "I just don't know if you should get the thing back, Pez." Gabe's doubt surfaced once again, refusing to be ignored.

By inference, Sara knew that Gabriel was concerned for her being a pretender to the blade.  These thoughts had plagued her also.  It was all she thought about.  _His doubts were __her doubts.  Yet, she could still not bring herself to tell her friend Gabe that the blade had abandoned her even __before her final attack.  The only person she wanted to speak to about this was Ian Nottingham.  She knew __he would understand.  Perhaps she __was a pretender. But voicing this to her friend Gabriel now might seal her fate…condemn her as a pretender before she could prove otherwise.  She could __not do that.  __She must know!_

_Pretender…Pretender…  The voices reverberated in her head and all around her as if they were an echo._

"Gabriel…" Sara's voice was small, almost imperceptible. "Help Ian…find the Witchblade."  She choked on her words. He handed her the glass of water that she had set down on a nearby coffee table, so she could clear her throat.

"I understand, Sara."  Gabe nodded.  "Not sure if this is important but Ian has been referring to Irons as his father.  I had done some research and never found a birth certificate to support this, but that doesn't mean it's not true.  I found newspaper clippings to support his claim that he had been with Irons since he was a child."

Sara thought she knew where her friend was headed with this.

"You think he may have another agenda, Gabriel?"  She asked, wondering what his answer would be…knowing what _she wanted to believe._

"Noooo!  After seeing how he feels about you?  No way.  He loves you, Pez."  Gabe's response was more than she had expected.  He saw the look of surprise on her face.  It was the one time since he had walked into her apartment that she looked almost as radiant as she always had before…for a brief moment.

"Love?  Nottingham?"  Sara questioned half-heartedly.  Gabe knew she was in denial.  He laughed.

"Don't look so surprised, Chief.  You have this affect on many of us.  It's your feminine wiles."  He pointed a crooked finger at her with a grin. "Don't try to deny it.  The man is in love with you.  I'm not sure he even knows it himself…so be kind."  He grinned.

Sara smiled to herself.  This pleased her. Nottingham was so passionate where she was concerned.  She knew this from their talks at Annie's bedside.  He was probably in turmoil over her suffering but it made her heart soar that he might be trying to help…out of love for her.  

_She had to live through this!  She just had to!_

"I must admit that it would not hurt me any to see him right now."  She admitted.  Knowing her _gallant __white knight, he was not far away, perhaps watching as they were speaking.  Her heart filled with joy at the thought.  _

She was _not alone in her __'darkest hour'.  Why had she not __known this?_

"Are the feelings mutual?"  Grinning, Gabe was not going to let this rest.  With Sara's shy smile, she did not have to answer.

"Alright…keep your secrets.  You are a woman of mystery Sara Pezzini."  Gabriel arose from his chair and leaned over to kiss Sara's burning forehead.  

Her chills had switched to a high temperature.  Sweat was trickling down her temples.  Gabe forced her to lie down flat on the sofa.  After giving her several aspirins, he got a washrag and bowl of water from the kitchen.  As he wiped a cool compress across his friend's face and arms, she fell asleep under his watchful care. He knew she would only be able to rest a short while.  Walking to the window nearest the fire escape, he looked across the alley to the neighboring buildings.  He had the distinct impression that he was being watched.  It gave him comfort knowing it was most probably Ian Nottingham, Sara's protector.  

Maybe he _was the answer.  He hoped so…for __her sake._

Ian Nottingham gazed down to Sara's loft from the rooftop across the street, hidden in the shadows.  It was as if Gabriel Bowman was looking right at him.  The only thing he wished for more than Sara's recovery was that he could be with her now himself.  This was not possible…but he could hope.  It would have to be enough that Gabriel was there with her.  It did not bother him that his beloved had such a friend.  He only wished it could be him standing by her side.

Banrighinn's own words pulled him from his thoughts of Sara.  _"Evil abounds…Help the __Wielder!"_

He could ill afford another moment of self-pity.  He turned and moved stealthily towards the stairs, his long, black coat wafted in the breeze.  She needed him now more than ever.  

He would do what he was trained to do…serve the wielder.


	9. Chapter Nine - Dante's Inferno

**Chapter Nine – Dante's Inferno**

_"Don't ever believe you are protected.  No matter what you wear, no matter how you shield yourself.  Never forget…you are an impossibly fragile, soft, pale, hairless organism with no natural defenses.  Like something you'd find when you turn over a rock."_

_Kenneth Irons_

The shiny black limo eased through the lavish, well-guarded security gate of the Irons' Estate at an unhurried pace.  The uniformed guards carried automatic weapons slung over their shoulders as the master of the mansion passed.  The tinted windows obscured any unwanted scrutiny from the outside, but gave Kenneth Irons his _own biased view of the world.  The bright morning sun warmed his face.  On a sunny day as this, he knew to leave his sunglasses on for the tedious drive into the city to the offices of Vorschlag Industries, his pale blue eyes being sensitive to the light of day.  Oblivious to the scenery that blurred past him, he mused at his own reflection in the window, admiring his silk, Italian made navy suit with a pale, lavender shirt, set off by an impeccable ensemble of tie and kerchief, with not a hair out of place.  He had not aged much since encountering the Witchblade those many years ago.  For such a brief engagement, the weapon had suffused him with a fountain of youth, of sorts.  In other ways, it had taken his life as surely as if it had killed him, but he was grateful for having survived the experience.  _

Thinking of the person he had been prior to his encounter with the blade, Kenneth Irons refused to admit the power of the ancient weapon had altered him, as greatly as it most certainly had.  He did not like to think that something held that much authority over _him.  As the road noise droned innocuously in the background, Irons' cell phone abruptly invaded his thoughts._

"Yes." His tone bearing its' usual impertinence.

"Mr. Irons.  This is Randall Briggs."  

"Yes, Mr. Briggs.  Finding any success in your prosaic world?" He smiled at his cynicism.  Briggs failed to notice his disdain.

"Just wanted to let you know that the bracelet is as good as yours, Mr. Irons.  I have a lead on the low life that has it."  Irons could hear the smile in the man's voice.

"My…that _is good news, Randall.  As I promised, if you succeed in this task, you will get exactly what you deserve…I assure you."  Irons terminated the conversation with a push of a button._

Of course, it was yet to be determined that Briggs could pull this off under Nottingham's nose.  Irons was not entirely sure he wanted to see that happen, knowing Ian had been trained far better than Briggs could ever hope to achieve in a multitude of lifetimes.  Yet, if Briggs retrieved the Gauntlet and returned it to its rightful owner, then he should be rewarded, as was his due.  

Yes, Briggs would have a bright future _indeed at Vorschlag Industries!  Irons smirked._

As the limo neared his secured underground parking entrance in the city just outside the Vorschlag Tower, another call interrupted his reverie.

"It's me."  Irons took a deep breath, allowing silence to undermine the start of their conversation.

"Yes. What can I do for you?" Recognizing the voice of Captain Bruno Dante, his voice was icy cold.  He had grown quite weary of this man.

"We need to talk…_now."  Dante demanded with urgency in his voice.  _

"What can be so urgent that you would forego common courtesy?"  Irons detested Dante when he presumed too much.

"Had a visitor last night. I think you should hear about it."  Dante began.  He had heard the smugness in Irons' voice, the bastard.  The Captain would not take 'No' for an answer.  He wanted off this demented merry-go-round of Irons' fabrication.

Having a similar nocturnal visitor, Irons could guess what Dante wanted to talk about.  It seemed young Nottingham had been a busy lad.

"Your mongrel dog came to visit me last night…at my apartment.  My bathroom to be exact."  Dante's voice was almost comical to Irons who was trying hard not to conjure up an image in his head of just how his Ian had cornered the man in his _very bathroom…and what he might have been __doing at the time. _

"Oh, my good fellow…I can assure you that Ian is _no mongrel.   He is pure bred…care to see his pedigree papers?  He is the best in the world.  No one alive surpasses him…__he has seen to that."  Irons' tone of voice and disrespectfulness could not be restrained, making Dante shake with his rage._

"This is it!  Either _he goes, or __I do!  I __refuse to be intimidated in my __own home.  I want __out of this deranged circus of yours."  Dante had threatened Irons on other occasions and had only survived the attempt because the eccentric billionaire had still found a need to use this man.  _

But things had changed.

"What exactly do you propose, my dear man?"  Irons was enjoying this.

"Seems to me that I have served you well over the years.  I would like to retire early…someplace warm.  I won't have access to my pension for a number of years yet. With your financial backing and connections, I could accomplish this...now.  All I need is a small sum…say one million dollars…call it a philanthropic contribution to my favorite charity…to help me over this hurdle.  A man with your obvious means would never miss that kind of money."  Dante thought his wording was clever.

"Is this some form of extortion?"  Irons asked disingenuously.

"I would never think to do that to you.  We have too much on each other for _that to be a wise move on __my part."  Dante was artfully trying to separate himself from the man and thought he was approaching this tactfully.  Two can play this brand of dodge ball, Bruno thought._

"Perhaps you are right.  It is probably time for us to part company…but only on a few conditions."  Irons coolly responded.  _Oh…here it comes, thought Dante._

"I will need to have you name your replacement as leader to your special fraternal association…your brothers in blue.  It should be someone you feel is qualified to supersede a man of _your skills.  And I would want you to advise the man of your departure immediately…so we can have a smooth transition."  Irons almost choked on his words, his insincerity abounding._

"I can speak to him today.  Have him call you later this morning."  Dante could not believe this was happening.  Getting rid of Irons and retirement in the same day.  _Amazing! He thought._

"Also, I want you to turn in your resignation today.  This should go without saying.  Considering I am about to retire you."  There was a smile in Irons' voice that Dante had mistakenly thought to be congratulatory.

"I also trust you can pack up your meager personal belongings and be ready to depart the state by this evening.  I do not want any interference from you after you are replaced.  Is this agreeable?"  Irons asked.

"Certainly.  Anything you say."  Dante could smell his retirement now.

"And lastly, come share a drink with me after work today…at my offices.  Think of it as a Bon Voyage…in recognition for the quality of service that you have given to me over the years.  I will have the contributory funds you require.  You are right.  I keep such paltry sums in my safe here at the Tower."  Kenneth Irons casually opened his black leather brief case and retrieved his appointment book, making a production of flipping the pages so Dante would have to wait for him to get around to the correct date.

"Ah…I have a notation here with your name on it.  It appeared I _had wanted to meet with you today __after all.  You have just made it more __convenient for me, for which I am __most grateful."  Irons had almost forgotten about his entry under Things To Do.  He continued._

"Meet me after work…say around six o'clock…in the West Conference room...Penthouse Suite.  You can use the underground parking garage to secure your vehicle and personal belongings while we are visiting.  I will notify security of your appointment."  Irons made a note to contact security.  He would not want any surveillance cameras recording _this appointment.  Irons continued._

"I have been renovating the room and need to inspect the progress.  We can meet there.  I trust with your skills…you can detect your way to the appropriate location.  I can assure you, we will have complete privacy."  Irons disconnected the call.  

His limo had a scrambler installed, making it impossible for anyone to eavesdrop on his cell phone conversations, but Irons had also painstakingly avoided the use of the Captain's name and spoke in cryptic terms as an extra safety measure.  To his credit, the Captain had done the same.  _His day was having an excellent start! Irons mused._

Dante allowed himself to think about his new retirement plan as he placed a call to Jerry Orlinsky, his successor to command the White Bulls.  After his discussion with Orlinsky, he would have plenty of time to draft his resignation letter.  It would not take him long to pack his clothes and give notice at his apartment.  He was only renting month to month and would loose his deposit for lack of notice, but so what.  He was retired now.  It was a good thing he had never invested in furniture, having leased what he had with the cheap apartment.

_La Vida Loca!  __Here I come! He thought.  _

*****

"Bastard!" Dante thought.  

He was now pacing the large Vorschlag conference room, on his third glass of scotch.  He more than suspected Irons had deliberately let him wait, perhaps while he arranged for a shoeshine or a manicure at his leisure.  It was well after six o'clock.  He wanted to know how heavy a million dollars was, having brought his own luggage in which to tote it.  The one good thing was that rush hour would now be over, making it easier for him to get on the road and make some progress before dark.  The cool and detached farewell that he had rehearsed, however, was now a forgotten memory.  Irons had gotten the better of him again.  Well, _no more.  He was retired._

The room was indeed undergoing renovation.  Swatches of drapery material and floor tile samples were laid out on the console table along the left wall.  It looked as if the walls were being prepped today for texturing and painting…a rich, bronze color seemed to be the color of choice.  Plastic tarp material covered every inch of the room's floor and large wooden conference room table.  As Dante paced, the plastic underfoot crackled with each step.  Under the plastic were perfectly good hard wood floors and seemingly new carpet that were being ripped out, only to be replaced by new tile, wall treatments, and accompanying décor at the whim of Irons.  _What a waste, Dante thought._

"Ah, Bruno.  I am delighted you could make it.  I have been looking forward to our last visit.  I trust you have not been waiting long."  Kenneth Irons was a self-important and egotistical peacock, Dante thought.  His demeanor a constant source of aggravation for Dante over the years.  _Today was no exception._

Irons strode into the room with supreme confidence, knowing he had just bested the man before him.  He was in control at _all times.  Dante needed to know this, among other things, Irons thought.  He carried a garment bag that he hung behind the conference room door as he closed it, securing their privacy.  Tossing his organizer on the clear plastic protecting the lustrous mahogany conference room table underneath, he towered above the former Police Captain, choosing to remain standing and illustrate his dominance.  Irons had been late, trying to confirm all of Dante's departure arrangements, discreetly of course._

"I don't have much time today…for our farewell.  I am sure you don't have much time either."  Irons had always chosen his words carefully.  

Unfortunately for Bruno Dante, he had not noticed this.

Irons slowly strolled around the conference room table towards Dante.  He reached over to open his day planner, reviewing its' contents dispassionately.

"Do you know what the key to success is, Captain?"  Irons looked up from his notes, appearing to expect an answer for this seemingly pointless question. 

"What does _that have to do with __anything, Kenneth?"  Dante knew he was pushing all the wrong buttons with Irons, using his first name, but he was passed caring.  He just wanted his money and to be on his way. _

Ignoring Dante's overly familiar tone and insulting manner, Irons continued with a smile.

"Goal Setting.  Organization.  I have always set goals worthy of my attentions.  Today…one of my objectives is certainly beneath my normally high standards, but then I can assure myself of completing it quite easily."  

Irons turned his focus to his appointment book once again as he read aloud from it.  Dante was starting to shift his stance from side to side, seeming to get more impatient with Irons' presumably incoherent ramblings, much to the enjoyment of the billionaire who had noticed the man's growing annoyance.

"You see…here…the last item on my list today.  It states quite clearly…Kill Captain Bruno Dante."  Irons raised his steely blue eyes to stare into Dante's.  

"It seems you have outlived your usefulness, Bruno."  His voice was chilling.

Bruno Dante had heard the words in disbelief.  _You have outlived your usefulness._

With one fluid motion, before Dante could utter a rebuttal, Irons grabbed the man's shoulders firmly with his left hand in an intimate embrace.  Holding him in place, Irons buried a stiletto deep into the man's chest…to the hilt…quickly plunging the knife several times as he breathed in Dante's dying breath…and smiled one last time into his dead eyes.

Irons had moved to his side too quickly for him to react.  He felt the excruciating pain as the blade thrust into his body.  His lungs were now filling with fluid, he would drown in his own blood.  He had expected that images of his life would have flashed before his eyes, but the last cruelty was that he would die looking upon the face of his killer, Kenneth Irons.  As he stood on legs about to collapse, the room began to fade.  His body grew colder from the inside out.  Icy fingers seemed to clutch at his heart to stop it from beating.  With his life's blood draining from his body, his heart slowed to an imperceptible cadence…and all went black as his soul left his mortal remains.  

Remains he suspected would _never be found._

As Bruno Dante collapsed to the floor, conveniently and squarely atop one of the many plastic tarps, Kenneth Irons calmly began to undress, tossing each garment he had worn to the floor, over Dante's body.  He retrieved his handkerchief and brushed the cloth across his face and hands, discarding it in the same manner.  Walking to the conference room door, he unzipped the garment bag and redressed himself with the fresh suit he had brought for the occasion, of the same designer and coloring as he had previously worn that day.  He felt 170 pounds lighter, having rid himself of the liability known as Captain Bruno Dante.

He calmly walked over to his organizer that still lay on the conference room table before him.  Taking a gold pen from his notebook, he crossed off the last item on his Things To Do list.  He always made it a point to complete his goals each day.  He tore the page from his day planner and strolled assuredly to a nearby shredder, conveniently located near a side console table in the large boardroom.  Proceeding to a nearby phone, Irons dialed a number he knew by heart.

"Rolf… Ich habe etwas, damit Sie abzuschaffen. Ich bin im Westkonferenzraum des Penthouse Suite. Kommen Sie alleine."  Rolf had assisted his employer on more than one occasion when disposing of something unsavory.  

Irons' discarded clothes would be burned as well.  With the renovations of the conference room, any trace that the good Captain had been there would be forever eradicated and replaced by his especially hand-picked Italian granite tile and other new and elegant décor of his tasteful selection.  The security cameras would not have any recording of the man's entrance or exit.  Dante's car and all his worldly possessions would be driven to another state and destroyed.

Irons smiled as he gazed into the dead eyes of Bruno Dante and awaited Rolf.  He knew this body would _never be found.  _


	10. Chapter Ten - An Ancient Reunion

**Chapter 10 – An Ancient Reunion**

_"Black Dragons are serious trouble.  They cause drought, famine, pestilence, end of the world, stuff like that.  If you see a Black Dragon, do not piss him off."_

_Gabriel Bowman_

He had heard the rumor on the street and hoped that it had _not been true.  But there had been many that had seen the aftermath of the beating that Sully had experienced.  Ultimately, he had lost his life at St. Elizabeth hospital.  The attack had been too severe for the old man to survive.  Before the ambulance could arrive, Sully had yelled a warning for he and the Preacher to beware…his killer was coming for them.  Lefty had been told this by one of his comrades in arms. Normally, such an alert would have sent him to ground; hiding until he thought it was safe to come out.  But the Preacher needed his help.  He was not quite right in the head.  He would not heed or comprehend such a warning, and perhaps end up like Sully.  Lefty had formed an attachment to the old man who had difficulty fending for himself at times.  The Preacher's days on the street were numbered.   All Lefty knew of the man was that he had been some kind of clergy and was fond of quoting scripture._

Lefty had not caught up to the Preacher until dusk, in the alley near the old St. Joseph's Soup Kitchen.  The place had been abandoned long ago, but the Preacher sometimes had a hard time remembering such things.  The overcast skies covered what would have been a beautiful sunset, making the world a darker and colder place.

"Preacher."  Lefty called out as he saw the man picking up a half smoked, discarded cigarette butt, his hand still clasped to his shopping cart filled with his acquired valuables.  The Preacher turned and squinted as he tried to figure out who had called his name.

"Hey…Lefty.  Where ya been?  Been looking for ya. My soul magnifies the Lord…and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior."  The Preacher beamed at the sight of his friend, his arms outstretched.  The cigarette butt dropped from his hand, a future treasure to be discovered by another.

"Glad to hear it, Padre.  Listen…something's happened.  I don't have time to explain it all to you right now, but you have to come with me."  Lefty grabbed the elbow of the old man with his one good hand, trying to pull him down the alley.  He would take him to a spot that he had already scoped out.  It would be safe for a while.

"And just where the hell do you think you two are going?"  Randall Briggs had been about to make the Preacher repent his slovenly ways when Lefty walked into the picture, like a lamb to the slaughter.  He felt the need to answer the question he had just posed.  "To hell if I don't change my ways."  Laughing at his own warped sense of humor, Briggs walked up to the two men without fear or caution.

The Vorschlag security man could taste his victory.  He was already visualizing his triumphant return to the Tower to see the look on Irons' face when he recovered his precious bracelet…and all being achieved without once laying eyes on the infamous Ian Nottingham_.  Some assassin! Briggs thought with a smirk. _

"I'm only gonna ask you this once.  Where is the damned bracelet?  The one that one of you animals stole from the alley near 47th and Lincoln."  Briggs demanded as he grabbed Lefty's collar and pulled the man toward him, leaving the Preacher to cower nearby.

"Allow me to assist you in finding what you deserve."  The voice had been so quiet that Briggs had almost not heard it.  Loosening his grip on Lefty, he turned to face a man dressed in black who stood at the entrance to the secluded and deserted alley.  Looking over Briggs' shoulder, the stranger directed his next comment to Lefty.

"Are you in good health, Sargent Harrison?"  Lefty saw the man he only knew as Death's Angel as he peered over the shoulder of the man that probably killed Sully.  The interloper's dark, cold eyes never wavered from the bully that had finally released the old man's fatigue jacket.

"Yes…both of us are.  But don't think we would have been for long.  Thanks, Death's Angel."  The Sargent quickly gathered the Preacher and his belongings, ushering them towards the mysterious man he had only just met.

"My name is Ian…Ian Nottingham, Sargent.  And I am happy to be of some assistance."  Nottingham had declared his name more for Briggs' benefit.  The security man's face was now turning ashen.  Briggs had suspected who the intruder was but had hoped it would not come to this.  It was one thing to coerce his way through college, intimidating a weaker opponent on the football field, or playing mind games to persuade others to do his bidding.  But when faced with the dark reality of a trained assassin squaring of in front of him, Briggs could have gone a lifetime without truly knowing who was the better of the two.  

It seemed the answer to _that question was coming soon enough.  _

"Before you go…May I?"  Nottingham gestured towards the Preacher's cart, asking permission to search for what he already knew was buried deep inside, having felt the amulet's pull.  Sargent Harrison and the Preacher vigorously nodded their assent.  Nottingham's eyes remained on Briggs who stood only a few yards away.

Extending his right-gloved hand toward the bundle in the cart, Nottingham's face grew still and almost shook with his concentration. 

"Banrighinn!  For the sake of your chosen Wielder, I call upon you to awaken the Warrior!"   Nottingham's voice was strong and true.  He knew his heart would guide him.

It was his dream, reenacted in his waking hours.  He knew what to do…what to expect.  He accepted the power that had been bestowed on him without question. Age-old voices encircled Nottingham, speaking in primeval tongues that he could somehow now understand, awakening the ancient warrior within him and Excaliber.  The silver ring that Nottingham wore began to shine a bright light of its' own.  The ring seemed to lose its' form, being replaced by a fierce and ghostly light, piercing the darkness like a sword.  Nottingham's face was illuminated from below, casting peculiar shadows over his already cold expression.  Briggs could only watch, overwhelmed by what he was witnessing. 

As if in reply, a red glow pulsed under a pile of clothes near the top of the Preacher's possessions.  The amulet of the Witchblade sent its' angry hues swirling in response to the call from the ancient ring that had been resurrected.  The blade had a mind of its' own, and right now, it sought refuge with its' sibling of sorts, Excaliber, the powerful talisman thought to be dormant all these years.  As the contents in the shopping cart seemed to move on its' own, Sargent Harrison and the Preacher backed away, gasping in fear.  The Witchblade, still in bracelet form, leapt from its' hiding place and into the hand of Nottingham.  The union of the two manifestations of light blended into one fiery orb, casting white and red streaks across the alley walls, like a beacon, swirling violently.

The Preacher sank to his knees, making the sign of the cross and closing his eyes in prayer.

"Take it…I didn't steal it.  I found it."  Wringing his hands, the Preacher exclaimed in a raised voice.  "Take it for atonement…Secure your rightful place in heaven."  

Nottingham lowered his arm as the glow diminished by his command, leaving only a dissolving gentle radiance of light that soon faded.  He glanced down to behold his beloved's precious weapon before tucking it into a pocket of his long, black coat.

"If only it were that easy, my friend."  Ian said as he turned his attentions to Briggs who still had his mouth agape.

Sargent Harrison did not know what to make of what he had just witnessed but he knew when it was time to leave…and now seemed like a good time.  He gathered up the Preacher, pulling him from his knees, and started to push his cart out of the alley.  Turning back towards Briggs, he called out.

"Hope you're flexible enough."  He said with a smile as Briggs gave him a puzzled look.

"What are you talking about, old man?"  He sneered.

"'Cause right now, you may as well kiss your ass goodbye."  The Sargent laughed aloud knowing it would be the last time he would see Briggs again.

The Preacher had felt a sermon coming on ever since he had seen the bright light and thought he was beholding the end of the world.  Turning to Nottingham, he declared.

"Forgiveness, my son!  Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord."  The old man could not bring himself to look into Ian's eyes as he spoke.  Nottingham kept his eyes on the Vorschlag man as he replied.

"You _are right, Preacher.  It is __not up to me to determine if this man shall be forgiven for his sins when he meets his Maker."  Nottingham replied._

Sargent Harrison had looked surprised by Nottingham's remark, thinking he had misjudged the man.  With a wicked smile on his face, Death's Angel continued.  

"But it _is up to me to make sure he keeps his appointment with God."_

The Sargent's laughter could be heard long after he had rounded the corner with the Preacher in tow.  Randall Briggs remained to answer for his crimes.  He and Ian Nottingham squared off like two gunslingers.

Under that long dark coat, Briggs suspected Irons' assassin could house a multitude of weapons.  He himself only carried his 9-MM Glock.  _How lucky did he feel? He thought.  Images of the bloody massacre at 47th and Lincoln flashed into his head.  He could feel the sweat trickle down his body under his clothes, even on a cool night such as this.  He slowly moved his right hand closer to his shoulder holster under his suit coat.  Nottingham still had not moved an inch.  It was a gamble, but he had to do __something.   He smiled contemptuously as his hand finally gripped the butt of his weapon._

In a simple gesture, Nottingham slowly raised his bent right arm upward, waist high, as if in greeting.  Commanding Excaliber to awaken once again, the silver ring cast a supernatural glow as it snaked its' way up Nottingham's forearm and morphed into the infamous broad sword of legend. A luminescent aura encircled Nottingham as he stood before Randall Briggs.  The ancient warrior bloodline permeated every cell in his body, bonding with his soul, marking him with the destiny he had been born to brandish.  He was infused with a confidence and power that he had _never known.  He felt invincible._

"What the hell kind of monster are you?"  Astonished, Briggs had finally lost his composure.  

"A Black Dragon."  Nottingham simply replied.

In retaliation, Irons' man pulled his gun and fired several rounds.  Moving at an incredible speed, Nottingham was able to deflect the man's bullets easily with the help of Excaliber.  Briggs continued to fire as Nottingham walked slowly towards him, averting bullet after bullet, his eyes never wavering from Randall's.

"Consider this your termination notice." This was the last thing Randall Briggs heard before Excaliber implemented his severance package.  One swift stroke…and Randall Briggs, untouchable on the football field, had failed to make his first cut.

So ended the promising career of Randall Briggs with Vorschlag Industries.


	11. Chapter Eleven - Connections

**Chapter 11 – Connections**

_"You have an unusual power.  Both a gift and a curse.  _

_There are forces out to destroy you."_

_Fortune Teller – Madame Sesostris (to Sara)_

Tommy Burgess glared at the loft across the street, its dim lighting the only discernible difference from the others.  He had positioned himself on a corner so he could track any movement at her front door as well as her fire escape and rear parking lot.  Begrudgingly, he had to cancel a date, having been ordered to pull White Bull's duty even though nothing had happened at Pezzini's place over the last several days…with the notable exception of a short visit by Gabriel Bowman, owner of a strange relic shop called Talismaniac.  _She never left her apartment, for crying out loud! He thought.  Sucking carcinogens into his lungs, half way through his third pack of cigarettes today, he resented this intrusion into his personal life…especially when he could be getting laid._

In his years at the NYPD, he had not known Sara Pezzini to take many sick days.  At first, he assumed she was looking for another job or was taking some time off, not wanting to waste a vacation day.  He would have found a whole new respect for the woman if she had shown some semblance of being human.  Burgess understood lying and cheating.  But he had been wrong.  She looked as bad as he'd ever seen her when she did show her mug at the window. Knowing the woman, it had to be something really bad to keep _her down.  She was like some kind of super cop. Unlike many of the other White Bulls, who belittled Pez for her __holier than thou act, Tommy deep down admired her.  Her strength to go it alone made him feel small by comparison…and __that, he resented._

He paced the sidewalk nearest the corner trying to stay warm, tossing his cigarette butt into the street, its red embers splintering and streaking across the growing darkness.  He had not counted on the clouds rolling in and absorbing what had been left of the day's warmth.  His light windbreaker was not quite enough.

"Littering is against the law, Detective."  Surprised to hear the voice coming from behind him, Burgess turned to see the taller Nottingham only a foot from his face.

Not waiting for Irons' henchman to make the first move, Tommy made a fist and swung it at the head of Nottingham.  His knuckles never connected, his exertion wasted as his right hook whizzed passed where Ian's head had been just seconds ago.  In an unorthodox move of his own invention, Nottingham thrust all his strength into a roundhouse maneuver that rocked Burgess' head into the nearby brick wall as Ian's fists pounded his jaw in rapid succession.  The underhanded detective never knew what had hit him.  He lay unconscious at Ian's feet.

Picking up the discarded cigarette butt from the street, Nottingham made sure the embers were completely extinguished by stubbing out the still glowing ashes in the center of Burgess's forehead before tucking it into the man's jacket pocket.  At least for a while, the man would be branded for his betrayal of Sara.  Rising up, with a slight smile on his face, he gazed toward her loft.

Before contacting Gabe, Nottingham had made a special stop via taxicab to drop a package for overnight delivery to the Irons' Estate.  His Father would find his personal delivery in the morning's mail.  Ian could only imagine his reaction.  He took no particular pleasure in taunting the man.  It pained him to know that his Father would ignore his intent behind the package that he had sent…his message for Irons to abandon his attempt on Sara's life.   The package would be no deterrent.  He would have to think of another way to find influence with his Father, perhaps negotiate a truce, or put an end to this once and for all.

After taking care of the package, Nottingham had called Gabriel by pay phone on his way over to Sara's.  He had the taxicab driver leave him a few blocks away.  Gabriel had been asked to drive a car to Sara's place, park in the back parking lot, and then buzz her apartment to let them know he had arrived.  Gabe told Ian that he could probably borrow his friend Sly's vehicle for a couple of days.  Making sure no other surveillance was surrounding the loft, Nottingham climbed Sara's fire escape.  He made his ascent fighting the urge not to take two steps at a time, calling more attention to himself.  He would have a few precious moments with Sara before Gabriel arrived.

As he reached the landing that was all too familiar to him, he peered into her dimly lit living room.  She lay on her sofa, wrapped in her comforter, with only half her face showing.   Trying to memorize every nuance, he gazed upon the visible parts of her, this being the first time he had seen her this close in days.  Not wanting to alarm her out of her sleep, he tapped lightly on her window.

_Wake up, my Beloved! He whispered to himself, not loud enough for anyone else to hear.  She did not stir.  He tapped again. Still, no reaction._

Was she breathing?  He could not discern any movement under the quilt.  Of all the cruelty, could she have died while he was fighting to bring her what he now had in his pocket?  _No…this could not be happening!  His mind was a jumble of recriminations...and doubts.  At that moment, he could have broken the window with the force of his anguish._

_Wake up!  Please!  He pleaded silently.  His heart pounding, he tried one more time, knocking with more force._

Movement…there was movement this time.  He closed his eyes in gratefulness, leaning his forehead against the glass.  She was alive.  If God would listen to the prayers of an assassin, Nottingham would have raised his voice to the heavens in gratitude.  _His Beloved was alive!_

_Sara had been adrift in a mist, the voices had carried her to another dimension, as if she were floating atop calm waters.  A voice called to her from beyond the fog…a voice she recognized.  _

_Wake up, my Beloved!  Wake up! Please!_

Opening her eyes slowly, it took her a while to realize she was home…in her loft.  Movement at her fire escape window caught her waning attention.  Could it be?  Or had she only _wanted it to be him?  Still clad in the same sweats as she had worn yesterday, she raised up cautiously and peeled back the comforter, swinging her weakened legs to the floor.  _

What a cruel hoax this would be if her eyes deceived her now!

Still, the image of her adoring stalker had not altered.  _Was he really here? She hoped._

The fingers of his gloved right hand splayed flat on the windowpane as she approached, willing her to give him entrance.  His expressive dark eyes looked upon her longingly.  The last time they had been together was in his embrace, having just kissed the man in public, on the streets of New York City.  At this moment, perhaps even more than wanting the Witchblade back on her wrist, she had not realized just how desperately she wanted him in her arms again.  The pain of her withdrawal from the blade had abated for the one brief moment she could hope that he was truly here, just outside on her fire escape.  

Raising the window, she watched Nottingham sidle inside…and into her arms.  She allowed herself to enfold him into her arms, smelling the skin of his neck, stroking his dark, wavy hair with her fingers, and nestling into his warmth.  

_Yes…it was him!  He was here!_

"Oh Sara!  I was _so worried! I thought you were…."  The words were out of his mouth and his heart before he could caution his brain to use its better judgment.  _

He lifted her off the ground in his enthusiasm, caressing her into his body.  His right hand lovingly cradled her head into his shoulder.  Without his precipitating panic, he would never have presumed such familiarity with the wielder, having been trained his whole life to serve her with honor and discretion.  Such intimacy would have been strictly forbidden…and certainly severely punished.  Yet, his desire to love this woman was growing stronger with every remembrance of her, with every stolen glimpse of her face, with every sweet utterance from her lips.  Even though his master was very inventive when it came to physical abuse, being apart from her was _now the greatest torture he could __ever imagine._

_How could this be wrong! He thought._

Catching a glimpse of himself holding Sara in a mirror by the front door, Ian abruptly set her down with his head bowed.  He had forgotten his place.

"Forgive me, Sara.  I did not mean to presume…" He stammered, his eyes avoiding hers.

Sara wanted nothing more than to be in his arms at this moment.  His sudden restraint had left her crushed.  Once again reminded of Irons' hand in Ian's abusive training, Sara was not about to let the cruel bastard win when it came to her personal life…and Ian's.

"Ian…I've missed you _so much!  Don't shut down on me now.  Hold me."  Sara gently pulled Ian to her once again, until the reality of the moment could be felt to their toes.  Too weak to return much of his embrace, she sought refuge in his passion and the strength of his body._

Putting his right arm under her knees, he carried her to the sofa and gently set her down.  She cupped her hands on his cheeks, drawing his lips toward her, abating her chills with the warmth of his kiss.  The smell of his skin and his hair was intoxicating.  She could have nibbled on his earlobe for a moment and totally forgotten her plight, but she knew her life was at stake.  She wanted desperately to live…so they may have a future to explore together.  Pulling reluctantly away from him, she returned his loving expression with a weakened smile.

"Thought you were avoiding me."  She lovingly teased.  

He leaned his forehead onto hers, nuzzling as he spoke, wanting all his senses to remember this moment.

"Not in this lifetime or any other.  You no longer have unwanted eyes.  I have gotten rid of the surveillance.  Gabriel will be here any moment to take us from here."  Ian pulled back, removing Excaliber and the glove from his right hand, holding them in his left, so that he could gently stroke her face as he continued.  

Sara marveled at his tenderness.

"I am taking you and Gabriel to one of my safe houses…just north of the city.  We need time…" His breath caught as she slipped her left hand under his black sweater to touch the warmth of his stomach.  Her hands were chilled but his reaction was caused more by her hand intimately caressing his body.  He had never known such a sensation.  Sara's touch rippled along his skin, sending shock waves to all of his senses.

"I'll say."  She agreed, nuzzling his neck with tender kisses.  His closeness and his genuine affection were like an elixir for her, a brief reprieve from the growing misery she had faced over the last days.

Sara's apartment buzzer sounded, bringing them both to the reality of the situation.  Gabriel had arrived to take them to safety.  It took her a while to get to the front door, she was almost too weak to stand on her own.  It pained Ian to see her so fragile, a word he would never have used to describe her.  Eventually, Sara rang him in and Gabe appeared on her doorstep, bounding the stairs two at a time.  As he reached her opened front door, he looked between Ian and Sara, feeling like an interloper.  The glances darting between the two of them, and their avoidance of his eyes, made him feel that he had surreptitiously caught them in 'the act'.  He had experienced this look himself when the parents of Susie Akkerman, the first girl he had ever dated, had caught them kissing on their front porch.

"What?  Did I interrupt something?"  He teased knowing neither would admit anything.  

"'Cause I can come back…in an hour."  He smiled sheepishly.  Sara punched his arm, giving him a stern look followed by a tired wink.  

"I'll just pack a few things…be back in a flash."  Sara turned to leave but pivoted toward the men and added.  "These days, my flash is more like a flush, so come get me if I don't come out in an hour."  

Nottingham could not fully appreciate her humor being so worried for her.  He only wanted to help her pack.  Sara could read this in his eyes.  "I'll be alright." She replied, waving her right hand.

As Sara disappeared into her bathroom, Nottingham tried hard to avoid Gabriel's stare by pretending to be preoccupied with slipping on his right glove and ring.  Seems the intimidation game _can be played on the master of that sport, Gabe thought, hiding a well-concealed smirk._

"Packed a few things like you said.  Gas tank's full."  Gabe nodded.  Ian had still not looked him in the eyes.  He paced the room, preoccupied, waiting for Sara to return.

"So where are we going, Captain?" Feeling more comfortable around Nottingham and distracted by what he really wanted to ask, Gabe let his term of endearment for Ian slip from his mouth before he could reclaim it.

"Captain?"  Nottingham asked, tilting his head to one side as he met Gabriel's eyes for the first time since he had entered Sara's loft.

"Yeah…I call Sara Chief…and you…" Finishing his thought seemed a bit risky, but what the heck, Gabe thought.  "Captain Crypto."  

Nottingham glared at the younger man for a moment, not sure what to make of this new title.  Understanding Gabriel had a sense of humor unlike his own, he thought he was willing to accept the first nickname he had ever had, from Sara's friend.  A slow smile spread across Ian's face, resulting in a definite sign of relief on Gabriel's.  Despite his concern for Sara, it felt good to find humor in some of this. 

Gabe joined Ian in a quiet laugh.  It had been a relief for them both.  Gabriel was amazed at how differently the man looked with a smile on his face.

"So…did you find it?"  Gabe finally got around to asking _the question.  Ian looked into his eyes, then nodded._

"I am not planning on saying anything to her as yet…until we get where we are going.  I have a safe house…outside the city.  It will give us some privacy.  I want us both to be there when she puts it on again."  Ian added.  

Gabe was saddened for Nottingham that in his life there was a need for a safe house.  As he reflected more upon this enigmatic man, Gabriel felt a special bond.  Ian had thought to include Gabe in this important moment with Sara.  It would have been easy to escape the city with the woman he loved, but Nottingham had shared this significant time with him, too.

"Thanks, man."  It was all Gabriel could say.  At first, Ian seemed puzzled by his gratitude, but then seemed to understand…and nodded in reply.

"You have been a very good friend to Sara.  She may not survive this, Gabriel."  The chink in his armor was finally showing as the doubt began to show in Ian's eyes.

"Let's just wait until there's something for us to beat ourselves up about."  Nottingham appreciated Gabriel's use of the word 'us'.  

Ian stepped toward the smaller man and grasped his right shoulder with his gloved left hand, as close to true affection as Gabe had seen from the man.  With other friends, Gabe would have exchanged a heartfelt hug, but he suspected Nottingham would have freaked with such a bonding experience.  For now, Gabriel would settle for a gentle squeeze on the shoulder.

Sara emerged from the back room with a small overnight bag in hand.  She had changed into some jeans and a navy NYPD sweatshirt.  Ian rushed to her side, grabbing the bag to carry it for her.

"Shall I leave a light on…so they think I'm still here?"  Sara asked as she grabbed a jacket from her coat closet and opened her front door.

"No…No need.  The way I left their man downstairs, they will know you are gone."  Ian replied quickly.

Gabe and Sara looked at one another, knowing Nottingham was the king of understatement.  Noticing their stares, Ian added.

"What?  He was littering.  That is against the law."  Nottingham replied as he trailed the other two out the door, locking it behind him.  His face remained stoic.  He was not going to be influenced by the raised eyebrow of Sara Pezzini.

Sara made the mistake of looking over at her friend Gabe…and they both totally lost it.  Sara's stomach hurt in the worst way, but the infusion of humor made her spirit soar.  

She loved these two men.

*****

The road noise had been his only companion for the last hour.  Normally, his radio or CD player would be blasting to help him stay awake when driving at night, but the two super humans he was transporting to safety were fast asleep in the backseat.  As the center lane stripes darted past his car, visible within the mesmerizing glow of his headlights, Gabe was alert to the highway markers, noting the mileage on his odometer.  Before falling asleep with Sara in his arms, his black coat draped over her shoulders, Ian had given Gabe instructions on where to find the turn off for his 'retreat'.  The property was located just two hours north of the city, somewhere near Kingston at the foothills of the Catskills off Hwy 87.  Nottingham had described it as a rustic cabin on Ashokan Lake.  Coming from the Irons' Estate, Gabriel had wondered what Nottingham thought was rustic. 

The mile marker would soon appear to his left if Ian's directions could be trusted, and Gabe knew that as precise as Nottingham was, his directions would be accurate within inches, he suspected.  Just as he predicted, he spotted a narrow 2-lane road to his left at precisely the location Ian had described.  From here on, high beams would be necessary.

As Gabriel drove through the small town of Kingston, the few street lamps shown light into the car, projecting some illumination into the back seat like a slow moving slide show.  Gabe looked into his rearview mirror to catch glimpses of Ian and Sara asleep in each other's arms, perhaps their last moments of peace.  He shook off the negative vibes and focused on getting to the cabin.  Once through Kingston, Gabriel was to look for a dirt road located 20.7 miles west of the small town, a dilapidated brown mailbox with the number 12569 on it would indicate their destination.  As Gabe slowed to make the turn onto the dirt road, Nottingham stirred and whispered.

"Be careful, Gabriel.  Stop."  Just as Gabe heard Ian's quiet request to stop the car, he stepped on the brakes as a deer darted in front of the vehicle.  He would have surely collided with the frightened animal had he not heeded Ian's warning.

"Man!  Where did he come from?  How did you know he was there?"  Gabe whispered, hoping the commotion would not wake Sara.

"She."  Ian corrected patiently, smiling at Gabriel's inability to discern a buck from a doe, as the doe bounded off into the nearby brush.  

In answer to Gabriel's second question, Nottingham could have pointed out the fact that in the dark, you have to look for the reflection of the headlights in the animal's eyes, if you are lucky enough to get that much warning.  Which was the case in this instance.  But, he chose a different answer.

"I just knew it was there…sensed it, Gabriel."  

He could not resist messing with the young man's mind.  If Gabe had turned around, he would have caught the subtle smile on Nottingham's face, but it was dark, and Gabe's heart was still pounding from adrenaline.  On false pretenses, Gabe's respect for Nottingham's abilities to see in the dark was raised up a notch.

"The place is just around the next bend." Ian whispered.

"Are we here?"  Sara spoke in a hushed tone, not quite awake as she wrapped her arms around Ian in her daze.

"Yes.  We have arrived."  He answered Sara.  Brushing back a strand of hair that had fallen across her face, he kissed her forehead.  The fever had returned.

As Gabe pulled in front of the cabin, he kept the headlights facing the door so they could have some light until they got inside.  The cabin was not the ostentatious display as Gabriel had expected.  It was cozy and small, very unlike his expectation of property belonging to the son of Kenneth Irons.  The stone façade added texture and a certain rustic quality to the wood finishes.  It was functional, yet quaint.  Enclosed by railing, a wooden deck surrounded the structure with an overhang for inclement weather.  A pine rocking chair was positioned near the front door and a half cord of wood was neatly piled in raised metal bins to the left of the heavily shuttered, front window.

"I have the keys, Gabriel.  I will take care of Sara."  Ian handed Gabe the keys to unlock the door.  As Nottingham brushed passed him carrying the woman he loved, Gabe returned to the car to douse the headlights.  With only a small lamp now dimly illuminating the interior of the cabin, Gabriel gazed up at the multitude of stars.  Tonight, the lights of the city would not mask this magnificent display.  Gabe felt alone in the universe as he wondered at the heavens, being reminded that there are infinitely more powerful influences on this planet than the Internet, Martha Stewart, and Alan Greenspan.

His thoughts drifted to Sara's reality as she and Nottingham stole a moment of privacy for themselves inside the cabin.  Once Ian returned the Witchblade to her, there would be no going back.  Her destiny would be determined tonight…in this place.  He did not recall how long he had stood under the brilliant canopy before he realized he was not alone.  The silhouette of Ian Nottingham stood alongside Gabriel, gazing up at the same light show.

"Is she asleep?"  Gabe asked in a hushed tone.  Ian could only nod his assent.  Catching the nod out of the corner of his eye, Gabriel knew his companion would find the words he wanted to say…when he was ready.  After a moment of silence, Ian spoke.

"I am so afraid for her, Gabriel."  In the darkness, there was a certain feeling of isolation that Nottingham found comforting even though he was happy to have Gabriel here.  He turned a shoulder to a man he had begun to see as his first friend, to maintain the illusion of his aloneness.

"I understand, Ian.  I love her, too." Gabe's words were honest and true.

Sadness overtook Ian's heart as he wished it would be as easy for him to declare his love as it appeared to be for others.  He also knew that a man like Gabriel did not give his love lightly, yet he did not seem to fear saying the words that made his feelings known.  This must be true bravery, Ian thought.

Gabe turned to face the man next to him.  Even by moonlight, he could feel Ian's torment, as real as the tears he briefly saw glistening on his face by starlight.  Nottingham raised his gloved hand to his cheek and silently wiped away tears that Gabe knew were there.  The young man admired the way that Ian did not appear to hide his sorrow.  Unlike most men, he was unashamed.

"She will not be asleep for long, I am afraid.  When she awakens, I will give her what she has been seeking." Nottingham raised his eyes to the heavens, as if in prayer.   With a sigh, he continued.

"With the help of Excaliber, I may be able to ease her burden at the time of the reuniting, but this is not a certainty."  Ian's voice was practically a whisper, almost as if he were talking to himself. Gabe had wanted to know how Ian's ring could help but decided he would bear witness to this soon enough.

Deep in their own thoughts, under the cover of a multitude of celestial bodies, Ian Nottingham and Gabriel Bowman sought solace in each other's company.  

Sara's fate would soon be out of their hands.


	12. Chapter Twelve - The Reuniting

**Chapter 12 - The Reuniting**

****

****

_"I knew your noble nature would attract the dark forces, forces that only you can fight.   Wielding the Witchblade means you also have to defend it."_

_Ian Nottingham (about Sara)_

Gabe was jolted awake, finding himself in a strange room. Surprised that he had fallen asleep, it took him a while to remember this was Nottingham's cabin.   A dim light shown down the hall, illuminating some of his surroundings. He had lain down on the oversized, dark green sofa in front of the small fireplace.  Nottingham had shown him how to make a blazing fire.  Along with its comforting warmth, the fire's crackling and hissing sounds had lulled him to sleep.  That had been an hour and forty-five minutes ago according to his watch.  The flames had since died to red glowing embers, the chill reclaiming the room.

Gabriel had not remembered throwing a quilt over himself, but was happy to have it. It seemed strange that Nottingham had thought to see to his comfort with Sara so much on his mind.  Yet, that is exactly what must have happened.  He threw off the blanket and sat upright, rubbing his face in his hands, trying to fully recover.

He tried to place just why he had awakened so abruptly.  True, this was not his bed and he found himself sleeping in the same clothes he had worn that day, but it must have been something else.  The room was deathly quiet.  Ah, yes…the quiet.  He smiled in the dark.  Being a city guy, the quiet had probably awakened him.  His apartment routinely filled with the sounds of the streets while he slept.  For him, _that was equivalent to a lullaby. Standing, he stretched his back and wandered down the hall to where Ian had indicated the bathroom could be found._

The dim lighting he had noticed was coming from the bedroom where Sara was resting.  Her door was opened, so he took a quick glance inside.  The room was sparsely furnished, functional by simple design.  A small wooden nightstand was placed on either side of the double bed, with a solitary porcelain lamp faintly burning on the nightstand to the left.  No other adornments were in the room.  Sara had slept in her clothes as well, but had a thick comforter over her, colored in various greens and gold.  She seemed a bit restless but Gabriel saw no cause for alarm.  

Nottingham was sprawled in a small cushioned chair by her bedside, resting his head and shoulders at her side.  Excaliber graced his right hand that was loosely atop hers.  His trademark leather gloves were partially stuffed in a pocket of his black coat, lying across the only other chair in the room, located in the far corner.  Ian's head was facing the bedroom door, so Gabe knew he was fast asleep.  His breathing was steady and measured.  Scratching his head, Gabriel proceeded down the hall to complete the task at hand, so to speak.

Sara was indeed restless.  Images forced their way into her brain, against her will, but she was too weak to fight them.  The voices had never fully departed, but were a faint murmur in the back of her mind, being replaced by the sights and sounds of an ancient battlefield.  

_The metallic smell of blood seemed so real.  Smoke filled the air, obscuring her vision yet camouflaged the smell of death.  Small fires had been started after the onslaught of the archers and their weapons of flaming arrows.  Clad in tanned hides and ancient metal shielding, the bloodied bodies of the dead were strewn across an empty, furrowed field.  No crop would grow here now.  Death had claimed its fruitfulness with the blood of these poor souls long since gone from this world. _

_Peering through the eyes of a female warrior, Sara could see the woman had an amulet like her own missing one, but as cruelty would have it, she could not feel the connection to it.  There would be no reprieve from her torment, even in your dreams.  Sara found herself stepping over the remains of the dead, as if she had actually been a part of the battle.  Her arms were covered in blood and she could feel its stickiness on her face as well.  _

_Walking towards a statuesque and powerful woman with raven hair and piercing dark green eyes, the woman seemed to be awaiting her approach.  She, too, was covered in the vestiges of war.  With a broad sword slung on her back and a metal shield in her left hand, the mighty woman wore a red amulet on her wrist, similar to Sara's missing Gauntlet.  As if in slow motion, the dark-haired warrior began to speak, but no sound came forth at first, as if her voice was being projected across time itself.  With her words, however, the voices in Sara's mind ceased to distract her.  All of Sara's attention was focused on the powerful warrior before her. _

_"It is time, wielder.  Evil comes your way."  Her eyes penetrated deep within Sara's soul as she spoke.  "Seek that which is rightfully yours…with your Protector's help.  He will know my name."  Her words filled Sara's mind with their urgency._

_"He will know my name."  Sara knew, without question, that the warrior had referred to Nottingham…as her Protector.  _

_Without words, an understanding flooded Sara's mind.  The refusal by the blade had been a test of her resolve, a probe into her commitment to brandishing justice…and an endeavor to discover the true depth of her Protector's determination.  Filled with the force of her warrior bloodline, it was now up to her to risk everything to reclaim it._

"Wait…Don't leave!"  Sara gasped aloud as she sat bolt upright in bed, awakening her sleeping Protector.

"Sara.  Are you all right?  No, I will not leave you."  Still groggy with sleep, he sat on the edge of the bed, enfolding her in his arms.  

Gabriel rushed into the room, hearing Sara's muffled cry.  "Is she okay?  What happened?"  

Reluctantly pulling herself from his arms, she searched Ian's eyes before she attempted to answer Gabe's question.  Nottingham tilted his head, watching her carefully, awaiting her response.

"It's time.  I have to regain what's mine."  She looked across to Gabriel but her eyes settled on Nottingham, knowing he would know what to do next.

"I _have found the Witchblade, Sara.  Are you sure this is what you want?"  His dark, brown eyes never strayed from her gaze.  Gabriel moved closer to the bed, listening intently for her answer._

"Yes.  I am prepared to reclaim it…as my right.  Will you help me, Ian?"  She pleaded, grasping his hands in hers.

"Always, my love.  I am with you in life…and in death."  He tenderly brushed back the hair from her face and gently kissed her forehead.  Rising up off the bed, he walked toward his coat and searched his pocket.

Gabriel was still not sure if this was the right thing to do, but Sara was radiating such composure and assuredness that she had not displayed since loosing the ancient weapon.  It filled him with confidence on her decision to once again take on the responsibility of a true wielder.  It did not, however, insulate him from the tears filling his eyes as he watched Nottingham kneel by her bedside, holding the Gauntlet in his right hand, knowing Sara might still die attempting to selflessly bring justice to this world.

Throwing back the comforter, still wearing her jeans and sweatshirt, she set her feet firmly on the floor by the bed.  With her left hand, she reached for Gabriel's.  She smiled as if to say farewell.

"I love you, Gabriel.  No recriminations if this doesn't work out, okay?  This is _my choice."  Sara nodded, almost choking on her words. _

"I love you too, Chief." A solitary tear fell down Gabriel's cheek.  "No regrets." 

"You had better step back, not sure what's going to happen."  Reluctantly, Gabe took a few steps closer to the door.  Not for his own safety, but so she would not needlessly worry about him.  

Sara then turned her attention to the man kneeling at her feet, who clutched the blade in his hand.   The tears were clearly glistening in her eyes.

"And you…I know it is useless to ask you not to blame yourself."  Sara gazed lovingly into her favorite pair of eyes in the whole world.  His own eyes brimmed with tears.

"I know that if something happens to me…you will not be able to live with the guilt you are bound to inflict upon yourself.  I wish this were not true…with all my heart."  She pulled him to her bosom, cradling his head in her hands.

"I promise you this, Ian Christian Nottingham.  I will know you…and I will find you in the next lifetime…and in the one thereafter…for as long as my soul exists."  Sara did not know how this was true, but she wanted to believe it with _all her heart._

Listening once more for the comforting rhythm of her heart, as she held him close, Nottingham knew that he would welcome death with opened arms rather than living without her.  He looked into her eyes, then kissed her lips tenderly, trembling as they touched.  His tears flowing freely now, mingling with hers.  

"And my spirit shall not rest until I have found you, my Beloved.  It is our Destiny."  Ian vowed.

Gabriel knew he was witnessing something ethereal.  In this lifetime, they were called Ian and Sara…in the next, who knows.  Yet their love would endure.  Of this, he was certain.  At that instant, the man named for an archangel closed his eyes, sending his prayers to the heavens.  He was not ready to say farewell to his friend Sara Pezzini…or his newfound acquaintance Ian Nottingham.  He was not a religious kind of guy, but it would not hurt to send some good energy to all that was cosmic in this universe, he thought.

Sara extended her right hand to Nottingham, willing him without words to place the Witchblade on her wrist.  Holding her hand in his, raising it to his lips for a gentle kiss, he then placed the ancient weapon on her wrist once more.  He clasped his right hand, with Excaliber, over her hand and called upon the ring's power.

_"Banrighinn!  Shield this true wielder from harm.  Cleave to her as I have. Claim her as your own." Holding Sara's gaze, Nottingham's voice resounded throughout the room, escaping into the expanse of the heavens._

Emanating from Excaliber, a blinding light pierced the dark room, swirling to encircle the wielder and her Protector.  The luminous sanctuary surrounded their bodies in a solid mass of light.  Every cell in their bodies was suffused with the energy of an eternity, cleansing and empowering them from the inside out. 

Gabriel stepped back.  The force of the emergence was a living, breathing thing that demanded space.   Within the opaque globe, Gabe could see Sara and Ian as if through a fog, a force field had encased them.  They looked upon one another as if they were speaking, yet no words came forth.  Their faces were glowing in their love.  The physical devastation that they had shared over the last several days was gone, replacing their images with an idealized version of themselves.  

Suddenly, a fiery red orb emerged from the Gauntlet, projecting its crimson lasers of light to the edges of the sphere as if it were trying to force its way out.  Pain and ecstasy now coursed through their bodies as if they were one and the same.  Ian and Sara held each other fast, grimacing and shuddering with the power of the two weapons at odds with one another.  The scarlet tendrils of light punched and fought for freedom, yet the shield of Excaliber held steadfastly.  As the battle raged, the blade and the ring began to form a synergetic alliance, bursting forth in rhythm.  The cadence of the Witchblade's light pulsed more slowly, as if it had suddenly acquiesced to the will of the ring.  

Finally, the symbiotic weapon granted Sara her miracle…a second chance.  The blade swirled alive on her wrist, once more connecting to its wielder at a cellular level.  The amalgamation was like a peaceful joining of an old friend.

As the gentle radiance from Excaliber subsided, Ian collapsed into Sara's arms in his exhaustion, gasping for breath.  Sara was in no better shape.  Trembling, they held each other firmly until the weakness had subsided.   With eyes closed, they listened for the steady beating of their hearts, as a sign of hope that they indeed might have a future together. 

Gabriel, sensing it was safe to approach them, rushed to their side with opened arms, kneeling at Sara's feet alongside Nottingham.

"I can't believe it!  What a light show!  Are you both all right?" He exclaimed in his joy, hugging them both.

Nottingham and Sara were as fragile as newborns, finding it hard to catch their breaths.  They had been consumed by the combined phenomenon of Excaliber and the Witchblade.  With depleted embraces and wavering smiles, they returned the love to Gabriel by enfolding him in their circle, knowing they had narrowly skirted death.

"Remind me to invite you guys over for the fourth of July."  Despite not wanting to encourage Gabriel with his warped sense of humor, Sara and Nottingham laughed aloud…and it felt good.

It was good to be alive…and together.

*****

Once more, Kenneth Irons had spent an evening alone, dining by himself with only the whimpering sounds of the wolfhounds and the sound of his own cutlery on china plates.  He resisted idle conversation with the servants, preferring to envelop himself in silence rather than filling it with the mundane.

He had selected a book of poetry from his library and sat near the fire in the Great Room, as was his custom during the evening, but he could not recall the author.  It seemed hard to concentrate, for in the back of his mind, a dark forbidding thing seemed to have been unleashed.  He avoided the confrontation by the many distractions he had chosen to fill his time.  By midnight, however, he had readied himself for bed, still unable to shut down his mind enough to rest.

Lying awake in the dark, staring at the ceiling of his bedroom, Irons watched the play of moonlight as it danced across the expanse of his room, assisted by the bowers of trees nearest his bedroom windows.  Certain shadows were playing devious tricks on him, forcing recollections he might otherwise prefer to dismiss all together.  

Irons' mind had been plagued with the demons that cohabited the dark recesses of his memory.  It seemed life could be interminable when besieged by the devil himself.  Like Faust, Irons had made a pact to acquire the power of the Witchblade, sacrificing the love of his life, Elizabeth Bronte, in the bargain.  She was haunting him tonight, her face forever frozen in death.

He supposed it was befitting since Elizabeth had been the previous wielder before Sara Pezzini…if Sara could be presumed to be a true wielder.  As his thoughts turned to Sara, the circular scars on the back of his hand started a slow burn.  His eyes darted about the room.  The connection to the wielder had been severed during Sara's recent abandonment.

_Why could he feel this sensation again?  No…it could not be!_

Shooting pain coursed up his arm, ravaging his body with the shock of linking to Sara once more.  Convulsing and writhing in bed, his pale, blue eyes rolled into his head.  Images of an intense and pulsating light blinded him.  The luminescence was not like any other he had experienced.  The energy was overpowering, crushing the breath from his chest as he fought to be free of it.

_She was not alone!  How could this be?_

It felt as if the lives of every warrior that had come before Sara were enfolding her in their embrace, shielding her from harm.  The ancient voices that had tormented Sara were now echoing about his room in the darkness, taunting him.  Besieging him from all corners of the room, he flailed his arms against the demons only _he could see._

_"Nooooo!  Noooooooo!"  His pitiable shrieks resounded throughout the estate._

*****

Still clad in silken, black pajamas with red piping and matching robe, Kenneth Irons was doing his best to force down his breakfast of toast, hot tea, and a half grapefruit.  His eyes were drawn and tired, not having slept all night.  The servants avoided the dining room as much as possible, having heard his screams most of the night.  They had learned long ago not to interfere with the masters' life unless they had been specifically called upon to obey his orders.  Compassion was nonexistent and not encouraged at the Estate.

In an effort to distract himself from his terror of last night, he was beginning to wonder what had befallen Randall Briggs.   Perhaps this was more of a rhetorical question since Irons suspected Ian knew precisely what had happened to the impulsive young man who had seemed _so sure he would be successful in finding the missing 'bracelet'.  Incompetence was ruling the day of late.  This would have to change, he thought._

Several newspapers and his morning mail had been placed on a console table in the dining room.  Not able to eat any more, he casually distracted himself with the morning mail as he sipped his morning tea, a special blend he had discovered while he had last visited India.  The Vorschlag Cable Network was droning mindlessly in the background.  The news broadcast was barely audible, yet something drew his attention to the story nonetheless.  He set his china cup down into its saucer and reached for the remote control, turning up the volume.  The backdrop was down by the waterfront.

_"…Police will have difficulty identifying the body…hands and head have been severed…No identification found."  The blond reporter was finding it difficult to maintain her professional composure._

He lowered the sound once again.  A body in the harbor was not particularly noteworthy yet it registered with him all the same.  Drawing his attention once again to his morning mail, he sorted through the stack, tossing aside some for later review.  One envelope caught his eye.  The handwriting looked familiar.  It was personally addressed to him, but had been overnighted.  The package was marked with the appropriate approval stamps signifying it had been examined by his security personnel.  As he opened the envelope, a plastic badge fell onto his desk, along with a note. 

The badge was covered in dried blood.  The smiling face of Randall Briggs was staring up at him on the photo identification of the young man on a better day.  He slowly unfolded the note.

_Father---Consider this a Vorschlag severance package, of sorts._

_I hope this was not your idea of a replacement for me._

_Ian_

Clutching the note in his hand, he crumpled it in his rage.  His face reddened, as he had to remind himself to breathe.  The act had left him speechless.  He did not believe in coincidences.  The body fished out of the harbor _must be Briggs__, the incompetent bastard! Irons thought.  Nottingham was proving to be more formidable than he had originally thought.  He had obviously trained him too well.  This had been an asset while the lad had been under his roof.  _

Now…it was a deadly mistake.

Replaying the images and the news story in his mind, he recalled the head and hands were missing from the body.  This would make it difficult, if not impossible, for the authorities to identify the body.  At least the police would not be camping out on his doorstep for now.  

This thought made him pause.

Even as Ian was taunting him with this morning delivery, he had gone to considerable lengths to keep this from his door.  _Interesting!  Nottingham had won this round but was most assuredly displaying a certain loyalty to his former master…perhaps to his detriment, one day.  _

From the events of last night, he had suspected that Nottingham had been successful in retrieving the blade for his beloved wielder...and that the Gauntlet must have accepted Sara once more.  Sara and her newfound champion had bested him but he had a surprise awaiting them.

There was one call he needed to make.  No time like the present.

  
  



	13. Chapter Thirteen - The Perilous Truce

**_Readers__ - Thanks again for all your detailed reviews and emails on this story.  It has been a fun ride because of you.  I will be traveling again this week (Thurs-Fri) and will not be posting the final chapter until this weekend or Monday.  Bear with me._**

_Special thanks to my wonderfully talented beta readers for their guidance on this difficult chapter.  The father son dynamic is unique and hard to get right at times.  Hope you like the chapter._

**Chapter Thirteen – The Perilous Truce**

_"How perfectly ironic. I've sought such power all my life, and now it is denied me. _

_And you, who have the greatest gift, the power of immortality coursing through your veins, you want nothing of it."_

_Kenneth Irons (to Sara)_

The room was still dark, even though he suspected the sun had been up for quite a while, as evidenced by its light piercing through cracks in the wooden shutters and draperies in the room.  Gabe stretched his arms and legs as he lay underneath the warm quilt, catching a whiff of the ashes and burned wood from the fireplace.  His eyes seemed swollen from lack of sleep, but he could not be happier as he recalled his friend Sara had survived her ordeal.  

He smiled as he replayed those moments in his head.  The sheer power emanating from the two ancient weapons could be felt through his toes, like riding the fiercest roller coaster…and walking away from it unhurt.  The adrenaline rush was astounding!  He could only imagine what it must be like to harness such a force, be in control of it, like Sara and Ian.  They could have both died.  Yet through Ian's love and sacrifice, Sara was alive today.

Throwing the quilt onto the back of the sofa, he sat up and yawned, trying to infuse his brain with much needed oxygen.  Standing, he walked toward the chair that held his overnight bag, grabbing a change of clothes and his toiletry satchel.  A shower should wake him up.  Slowly, he padded down the hall in his stocking feet, hoping to catch a glimpse of Sara and Ian, expecting they would still be asleep.

The door to the bedroom was still open, so he could easily take a peek on his way to the bathroom.  As he had suspected, they were dead to the world, oblivious that the planet had kept on spinning.  Sara must have invited Ian to join her, because Nottingham was no longer uncomfortably seated in the nearby chair.  He had Sara nestled into his shoulder, her arm wrapped around his stomach, under his black sweater, his bare skin exposed.  Their legs entwined, Ian had his left arm around her, his head burrowed into Sara's long, brown hair.  Leaning his head against the door jam, Gabriel closed his eyes in gratitude, glad to see them both alive and well.  With a brief smile, and a flash of one of his dimples, he turned toward the bath.  The hot water would feel good, he thought.

Lathered up from head to toe, with billows of steam escaping from the plastic draped, shower stall, Gabe had resisted singing a little Jimi Hendrix or performing a rendition of his favorite licks in air guitar.  He knew Ian and Sara would still be asleep…and besides, he needed to cut this short, to make sure there would be enough hot water for them.  After a quick rinse, he stepped from the stall, appreciating Nottingham's taste in water pressure. He slipped on his change in clothes, jeans and an ABBA concert t-shirt.  After combing back his wet hair, he brushed his teeth.  Trying to assess whether or not to shave was another story.  Running his fingers over his stubbled chin, he thought, if it worked for Nottingham, it would be good enough for him.  In the wilderness, the slight beard seemed to fit.  He made a mental note of what he would be getting for groceries from Kingston later this morning.  It would be his contribution to the home front.

Quietly, opening the bath door, he crept down the hall, careful not to make any noise to wake the lovebirds.  As he neared their room carrying his toiletry bag and dirty clothes, however, he heard their whispers, and stood perfectly still, not sure what he should do.  The door was still open.  It could prove to be embarrassing if he would cross their threshold while Nottingham was demonstrating the many uses of Excaliber to an eager Wielder. He heard their voices once again.

"Like this?" Ian whispered.

"Yeah…that's good." Sara spoke in hushed tones. 

Gabe pushed his back to the wall, clutching his personal belongings to his chest, wincing at the faint creak of the wooden floors under his weight.  He didn't know if listening was a greater offense than watching, but he could not make himself move.  He closed his eyes and swallowed hard.

"How does that feel?"  Sara continued.

"Oh yeah…That feels good."

"Are you sure you want to try this, Ian?"

"With you, Sara?  Yes."

"Okay…here goes.  Let me know if I hurt you."

_Hurt you?  Jeez…hurt me, Gabe thought.  Parts of his anatomy were beginning to respond to his friends' urgings._

The crimson hues of the Witchblade filled the room and escaped into the hallway, along with Nottingham's exclamation.  Gabriel's eyes were as wide as his mouth…a mouth he was unable to close.

"Oh My God!" Nottingham was in pain.

"Am I hurting you, Ian?"

"Just do it." He cried.

Gabriel could not stand it any longer.  _They were using the Gauntlet, for crying out loud.  __This he had to see!  Gabriel rushed to the bedroom door, on the pretense that he had heard Ian's cry of pain.  As he entered the room, Sara turned to see his face._

"I can't believe you're using the blade for…" Gabe stopped dead in his tracks, unwilling to finish the rest of his thought.  Fully clothed, Sara was straddling Nottingham's back, with her hands over his bare skin.  Only his sweater had been removed.  The red glow of the blade was still working its healing magic on the wounded and scarred back of Nottingham.  The fresh wounds were vanishing under their watchful eyes, but the old scars could not be healed, apparently.  Gabriel was shocked to see such hideous scars on Ian's back, and would have wondered about their origin, if he had not been so preoccupied with saving face.

"For what?" Sara demanded.  Gabe only blinked his eyes, unable to reply.  "Use the blade for what?" She repeated.

At this, Nottingham raised up, turning his shoulder to face their intruder as well, awaiting his answer.  As Gabriel stammered something ridiculously incoherent, Sara started to smile, then laugh, realizing what Gabe had thought they had been doing.  Nottingham was still clueless as Gabe's face changed to many shades of red, a dramatic show against his black hair.

"A little privacy would be nice."  She finally snickered, almost choking on her words.

"Well…then close the door." Gabe retorted as he walked out, shutting the door behind him, looking for any excuse to leave.

As Gabe leaned against the wall outside their door, he let out the breath he had been holding and heard Nottingham whisper to Sara.

"What was _that all about?"  _

Gabe did not have to hear Sara's quiet reply, as she whispered into Ian's ear.  Gabe had not heard Nottingham laugh this loudly _ever, probably accentuated by Sara's __own contribution.  Shrugging it off, he tossed his belongings onto the sofa, shaking his head and laughing at himself.  He knew it would be a long time before they would let __this drop.  Gabe had a feeling that Nottingham would be a lot more gracious than would his merciless friend Sara Pezzini.  __That's for sure._

_Paybacks are a bitch, Bowman!_

*****

Stretching her muscles while still lying in bed, Sara was beginning to feel as strong as ever.  Shaking off the cobwebs of an afternoon nap, she heard someone foraging in the kitchen.  Throwing off the comforter, she set her stocking feet on the floor.  Wearing jeans and a simple white t-shirt, she threw on her NYPD sweatshirt to ward off the growing chill in the cabin.  The sun was beginning to make its descent.  After making a quick trip to the bathroom, she walked down the hall toward the kitchen.  She caught Gabe with his mouth full, standing at the counter near the sink.  The kitchen had been stocked with basic utensils and appliances, nothing fancy.  Plundering his grocery purchases, Gabriel had fixed himself a quick roast beef and swiss sandwich on wheat.

"Hey Sara.  Can I make you one?"  Gabe asked with a smile, still munching.

"No.  Not yet.  Where's Ian?"  She asked, looking out one of the windows.  He was nowhere in sight.

"He asked me for the car keys a few hours ago…while you were napping.  Said he wouldn't be gone long."  Gabe replied.  Sara had that knitted brow look that she sometimes would get when she was worried…and wasn't ready to share her thoughts.

"Did he say where he was going?"  She turned toward Gabriel from across the room.

"No…which is really odd considering how open and communicative he usually is."  Gabe lavished on the sarcasm, hoping to lighten up Sara's mood.  She just gave him that raised eyebrow and smirked.

"You know, Chief…you obviously have known each other for an eternity…what's a couple of hours apart?  Man, you've got it bad."  He chuckled, taking another bite of his snack, washing it down with a glass of milk.  

Although Sara returned his smile, she turned her gaze out the front window, crossing her arms in front of her chest, shivering off the chill.  Nottingham would not have left her for a casual errand.  Something was up.

_What was he doing?  She wondered._

*****

Kenneth Irons was glad to have put in a full day's work at the Tower.  Yesterday had almost been a blur after spending it at the Estate, exhausted from his nightmares.  His connection to the ancient weapon had taunted him all that day.  But he would have the last laugh.  His research regarding the acquisition of the Longinus Lance was gaining ground.  He had spent much of his time at the Estate, securing a team to abscond with the well-guarded Object of Power.  If he could not acquire it legitimately, he would steal it, not wanting to be denied such power yet again.  The Lance had been touring Europe on display.  In route to its next destination, he had planned to secure the weapon at any cost.  Making such plans invigorated him.  

He was feeling the power of his Destiny.  It was only a matter of time.

Irons had called for his limo around six o'clock, knowing it was already awaiting his arrival in the secured parking garage below.  Rolf and the new replacement for Randall Briggs accompanied him down his personal elevator to the basement, insuring he was safely ensconced in his limo for the ride to the Estate.  Security cameras followed his movement as he entered the vehicle, waved on by his security personnel after a nod from the uniformed driver.  Irons had witnessed this process time and time again, but the security had been more stringent due to Nottingham's brazen trespass on the Estate.  Additional surveillance cameras had been installed, and security personnel worked in teams to discourage another encroachment from the assassin.  The Tower was like a fortress, on most days, but even more so since the 'beefed up' security measures.  Irons' life was routinely infringed upon by others, in service to him, but such was the existence of the obscenely wealthy and powerful.

The sun was tucking itself beneath the horizon, as a vivid orange hue spread across the sky amid deepening blues skirting the skyline.  Irons glanced ahead, to watch Mother Nature's show, over the shoulder of his driver.  With a smile, he lowered the bulletproof screen by remote control, speaking to the driver for the first time since entering the vehicle.

"I hope you did not hurt him."  Irons was smug, as usual.  He was not surprised to see a familiar pair of eyes in the rearview mirror, returning his stare.  After all, his son had not even bothered to remove his trademark Excaliber ring from his gloved hand.

"I am surprised you would care."  Nottingham's voice quietly replied, not shocked in the least to know his Father would have entered the vehicle, even with the knowledge of who was behind the wheel.  Perhaps, he too, welcomed such a private meeting between a Father and a son, Nottingham hoped.  More than likely, it was most attributable to the arrogance of the man.

"I don't…not really."  Irons responded apathetically…yet his mind was churning.  _He came to me.  His greatest weakness has always been his need for my approval.  It shall be his downfall. Irons assumed._

Irons brushed off a piece of lint from his tanned European-made suit.  Nottingham could hear the boredom in the man's voice, finding his casual disregard for all life as callous as always.  The only life he valued was his own.

"The new security features at the Tower…Were they _that easy to circumvent?"  Irons questioned.  _

Irons' mind played with the various scenarios that Nottingham would have traversed to break into the Tower without detection, especially given the changes to the security features since Ian's departure.  _How did he get into the Tower? Irons kept his anger in check._

"No, Father.  The added features were _quite challenging…at first…until I got my mind wrapped around them.  Then, it was…almost intuitive."  _

Nottingham knew this vagueness would drive the man crazy.  Irons would think about what he had said and try to read into it, not admitting he did not understand a word.  He would be working on his next maneuver.  In actuality, Nottingham had indeed used his mind to get around the added features, having used his telepathy to read the thoughts of Irons' own security men to determine his best course of action to secure his entrance into the Tower.  But, of course, his father would _never hear this from him._

Irons made a mental note to review all his security measures once again.  Surely, there would be a logical way to determine just how his son had gained entrance_.  Intuition would have nothing to do with it! He fumed, without giving himself away by facial expression or demeanor._

"It is nice to see you again, young Nottingham…in the light of day, that is."  Irons awaited the young man's response, insinuating an insult that Nottingham had not the courage to confront his Father in broad daylight.

Silence.  

It would have been the polite thing to do to return the sentiment, but the older man supposed they were well beyond being cordial with one another.  Anxiety was beginning to clutch at his chest, teasing him.  Ian's last nocturnal visit still remained a clear memory.

Ian knew that Irons had been fishing for a reaction, confident he could illicit one.  Silence was like a slap in the face.  Growing up under the man's cruel hand reinforced the effectiveness of silence.

"Where are we going, Ian?" _Sound bored…and use his first name.  It sounds more personal, Irons thought to himself.  _

He had felt his first pang of fear, realizing his trained assassin had just turned off course for parts unknown.  This game he had been playing with his son was taking a turn, but he still had an ace up his sleeve.

Reaching along side the rear door, into a secret compartment, Irons pressed a button that had been recently installed inside a door panel, after Nottingham's last visit.  It would send an alert and a tracking signal to his security personnel at both the Estate and the Tower.  In minutes, the limo would be surrounded, and Ian would be taken back in restraints, with only Irons determining his fate.  

He would be in control once more.

Feeling more confident, Irons could only imagine the urgency with which his security people were now scrambling as this device was set off for the first time.  Rolf had informed him of the procedures.  Three teams of five men each would be sent from both the Estate and the Tower via well-equipped vans.  The mobile units would be outfitted with enough firepower to cripple Beirut, making a good SWAT team envious.  With the assistance of a helicopter launched from the Tower helipad, the tracking would be facilitated by air with GPS positioning provided to the ground teams.  By the latest practice runs, this would all take place within five minutes of the initial alert_.  Most impressive! He had thought._

It was only a matter of time now.

"How long do we have to talk?"  Ian's quiet reply.  As if hit with cold water, Irons abruptly met his stare in the mirror once more.  

Ian knew. He knew!  _God, how he missed his son! _

"Not long.  Unfortunately."  Irons responded, with a slow smile that he was unwilling to hide.   _No matter!  The alarm and tracking device was activated.  His son could do nothing to prevent it._

"Guess I will have to remedy that, Father."  

Irons' head snapped to attention with Ian's words.  _What now?_

Ian pulled near an overpass, parking the limo under its sanctuary.  The signal would be more difficult to read under the obstruction.  Removing the uniform hat of the driver and setting it on the front seat, Nottingham allowed his long, wavy hair to fall loosely onto his shoulders.  Opening his own door, he walked slowly toward the rear of the vehicle and opened the rear door, gesturing for Irons to get out.  Irons complied, trying to conceal the puzzled look on his face.

"Your cell phone, please."  Ian requested gently, holding his right-gloved hand toward the man.  Irons begrudgingly acquiesced.  Nottingham held down the power button, securing privacy for their conversation.  He slipped the cell phone in the pocket of his black coat.

"Stand back…Please."  Ian was being exceedingly polite, Irons thought, but to what end?

With his hands gesturing as if in a bow, Irons moved to one side, moving away from the parked limo.  He was attempting to display a confidence he was not feeling at the moment.  If Nottingham had indeed known about the new security feature he had installed, what was on his mind?

Raising his right, gloved hand toward the vehicle, Ian summoned the power of Excaliber, much to the shock of his Father.  The ring's light formed a fiery ball surrounding Ian's gloved hand.  The aura seemed to exude from his body, enfolding him with its glow.  Sparks shot like electrical currents to the far corners of the tunnel and embedded its tendrils into the electrical system of the limo, devouring and shorting its onboard computer and dousing Irons' hope of being rescued.  As Excaliber was commanded to stand down by its wearer, Ian looked sadly to the man at his left.  The fear he had seen in his eyes, during his last nightly visit, was firmly implanted there once more.  Ian was reminded of those eyes in happier times, his mind drifting back to the memory of why he had been given the ring those many years ago.

_"…if you choose to accept this gift, it shall be a sign of your undying loyalty to me."  His Father's voice now taunted him._

One day, he would have to learn to place such memories in a special box in his mind.  Now, they were loose and random, adrift in his memory, coming to the forefront uncontrollably.  If he could only capture them, and secure them in such a box, he could lock them away and only peek in, if and when he ever needed to do so.  

He was eager to make new memories…of his own…with Sara.

*****

As Excaliber exploded its energy through the tunnel, across Irons' limo, the electrical currents ran through Sara's body for the first time since the other night.  She and Gabriel were taking a walk by the lake when she doubled over with the image.  It had not been painful, but the beautiful scenery at the water's edge suddenly vanished, blinding her for a moment.  Acting as a conduit for the energy, Ian was propelling the ring's power over Irons' vehicle.  For what purpose, she did not know, but she could feel Ian's pain at having to see his Father once again.  It was only a flash, and then it was gone.

"Sara…What's up?  You look like you've seen a ghost?" Gabe asked, putting his left arm around her, holding her right hand in the other.  His eyes searched for an answer in hers.

"He's with Irons.  He's using Excaliber, Gabe."  The look of worry on her face was contagious.

"What did you see, Sara?"  Gabe knew they were connected.  After Sara's reconnection to the Gauntlet, with Ian's help, the link between them may be more powerful, he thought.

"It was too quick to tell, Gabriel…but he may be there to kill him…kill his own father."  Remembering Ian's torment, for only the brief moment she had felt it, tears filled her eyes.  He was trying to protect her once again.  He should not have to face his own father like this.  

_This should not be happening!_

*****

"Let's take a walk.  Shall we?"  Ian beckoned the man to follow.  He had an isolated destination in mind.  They could be together…once more.  Ian found it ironic that Randall Briggs could bear witness to their encounter, his head and hands were not far away.

"Most impressive, Ian.  How long has Excaliber been under your command?"  Irons asked, trying to stall for time, not sure he wanted to hear the answer.  His heart raced as he tried to focus on what he would do if Ian sought his life…here in this remote spot.  _He __could die here!_

"Not long, Father."  He replied quietly.  Ian led the man down a dirt path, out from the tunnel, toward a ravine far from the abandoned limo. The loose gravel crunched under their feet, wreaking havoc on the fine Italian leather worn by Irons.

"You know that ring was a gift…to be worn by you for as long as you were loyal and in service to me."  Irons reminded him, trying to play on Ian's guilt.  This tactic had worked on countless occasions.

"I know, Father.  But you really do not think I would be foolish enough to give it back, do you?"  Ian strolled casually, with his hands held behind his back, side by side with his father.  Irons looked for any sign of a weapon under his coat, but this point was moot, for Ian could kill with his bare hands.  _He had seen to __that._

"It was worth a try."  Irons was beginning to run out of ideas.  Whatever young Nottingham had in mind, it would be played out here…and now.

A faint smile appeared briefly on Nottingham's lips, provoked by Irons' last remark.  The verbal jousting had such familiarity, yet he had never taken these liberties to this extreme.  He had and would truly miss his father, a cruel irony.

Irons had been noticing his young protégé's newly found confidence.  He held his head upright, never wavering from making eye contact with him.  Perhaps with the power of Excaliber, Ian had made a choice never to cower again.  This was a bit unnerving, Irons thought.  For the first time, looking directly into his son's eyes, he felt bested by another man.  He had never known the feeling, for he had achieved anything he had set his mind to accomplish.  

_This was disarming!  He had created a monster…in his own image._

Although Ian was projecting a confident image to his father, he found himself fighting every second against bowing his head in deference to his master, as he had done his whole life.  Standing before Irons as his equal flew against a lifetime of training to the contrary.  His abusive upbringing was his strongest adversary…all programmed and executed by the man before him.

"I have missed you, Ian."  The words were out of his mouth, without his usual scheming and calculations.  He thought this must be what sincerity feels like…perhaps.

"And surprisingly…I have missed you as well, Father."  He meant it.

"I suppose that with Excaliber at your command, you are going to ask me to leave Sara alone."  Irons tried another tact, hoping to speak of a future, in the expectation that he had one.

"Yes…that is what I had planned."  Ian turned to face his former master, staring him in the eyes once more.  This aggressive maneuver stopped Irons in his tracks.  He tensed his body for what he feared would come next as the day was coming to an end.  

"But?"  He had distinctly heard a 'but' coming from his former minion.

"But…as sincere as you might sound…in your most earnest voice…I know that you would be lying to me."  

It had been a painful process, but Nottingham was beginning to understand that his father had only one thing on his mind.  It had nothing to do with the love of a son.  His obsession with the power that the Witchblade could bring was his greatest passion _and his foremost weakness, yet another cruel irony to which his father had been blinded.  He would __never change!  It was not in his nature.  Ian would have to absolve himself for wanting too much from a man that had always been incapable of love.  _

He would have to sever the past from his life.

Ian willed the ring of Excaliber to do his bidding once more.  As the familiar glow encircled him, the ring morphed into the legendary broad sword, snaking up his arm.  Its blade glistened in the fading light.  He cut the sky in slow figure eight circles, closing his eyes to focus on the whisper of the blade singing to him as it passed his ears.  

He hoped he would have the strength to do what he considered necessary.

"You know me too well, young Nottingham."  Irons replied, dreading what was to come.  In the dying light of day, the glow of the weapon was not welcoming.  It threatened his very existence.

"And you know me…not at all."  Ian's quiet retort, almost a whisper.

The sun made its final degradation into the horizon.  Irons ventured another question.

"So…why are we here, Ian?"  _This was it, he thought._

Stepping towards his father, only cold steel remained between them.  His dark eyes pierced the fading light, illuminated eerily by the ancient weapon.  The tip of the blade inched its way towards Irons' heart, the one he kept so well hidden from his son.  Father and son held one another's gaze, neither wanting to imagine what could happen next.  

Irons held his breath.

*****

As Sara stepped onto the decking outside the cabin, following Gabe through the door, she was overtaken by yet another vision from Ian's confrontation with his father.  She gasped as she saw the blade of Excaliber at Irons' chest.

"It's happening, Gabriel."  She reached blindly toward Gabe, who took her extended hand, holding it firmly.

"What is, Sara?  What's happening?"  There was nothing he could do but wait for her response.  _Pure hell when you want to be a friend, he cursed in his own mind._

She could not answer.  Her mind was within Ian.  She was no longer with Gabe at the secluded and beautiful cabin by the lake.  She could only feel Ian's anguish as he threatened his father with his powerful weapon.    

_Don't do it, Ian!  Not for me…please!  She cried aloud._

*****

_Sara!  He could feel her presence in his mind.  She was with him now.  __But how?  Why? Ian puzzled, distracted for a moment._

Excaliber moved slightly to the right, tugging at the kerchief Irons had in his breast pocket.  The soft, silken material pulled easily.  With a flick of his wrist, Nottingham tossed the piece of silk into the air, making two swift cuts with the broad sword as the silk silently wafted to the ground…in four pieces.

For a split second, Irons thought the resonance of the blade cutting the air had also been the sound of his chest being lain open…here in this desolate spot.  His eyes had inadvertently shut.  He willed them open now.  _Was he still alive?  Or would this be just another nightmare to add to his burgeoning inventory? _

Ian pushed Sara from his mind.  He would normally relish the encounter, but not now.  _Not here!  Why was she fighting him on this?  This was to protect her.  Could she not see this needed to be done?  He could save her from this man.  He would defend her as he was trained to do.  __Why was she fighting him on this?_

It had taken all his strength and conviction to get to this point with his father.  He could not fight her, too.  Her doubts had invaded his mind as if they were his own…perhaps they were.  He shook with the conflict, his breathing becoming erratic_.  How was he going to proceed?  His indecision reflected for a brief moment in his eyes.  He knew his Father saw it.  Irons' pale blue eyes sensed his weakness…his arrogance was palpable once more._

Slowly stepping closer to Irons, his dark eyes held firm in his new purpose.  He held the glistening blade to Irons' throat.  His eyes were as cold as his father's heart.  If Sara had chosen to fight him on killing Irons here and now, he would respect her wishes.  But his Father would know that the next time they met…one of them was not walking away.

Ian was certain his Father would not have an appreciation for Sara's intervention.  He would only view it as a flaw…a sign of weakness.  Irons would not know just how close he had come to losing his life at the hand of his own son.  

Ian just hoped he would not regret his change of heart.****

"I will stand between you and Sara.  You will have to go through me…Father."  His simple reply.  An intimate and menacing whisper, his voice carried his veiled threat…more of a promise.  

"This is good-bye, Father.  I wish things had been…different between us."  

_I love you, Father!  Ian could not bring himself to say these words, exposing his heart once more.  He would have given anything to hear his Father say these words to __him.  He had to give up on his expectations.  His Father would never truly love him.  __Not in this lifetime!_

Bracing himself for Ian's next move, Irons' mind raced with all the possible scenarios.  He had trained his son to isolate himself from others, not being vulnerable for any reason.  Yet, Ian had always been vulnerable to his own Father.  Irons knew this.  Ian's greatest weakness had invariably been his need for his father's approval…and his love.  Perhaps he could use this to his advantage…to escape from this ordeal…alive.

As Ian moved, Irons flinched, expecting the worst.  Backing up a step and lowering the blade, Ian allowed Irons to breathe once more.  The smugness was gone from his pale blue eyes.

Excaliber's blade retreated slowly with its glow diminishing into the darkness.  Its most impressive iron pared down into its ring form, taking its rightful place on Ian's gloved right hand. 

"But you would kill me if I continue with this…am I right?"  Feeling encouraged by the exodus of the ancient weapon, Irons prompted Ian for an answer.  Perhaps he would survive after all.

In the darkness, Irons had not seen the tears that had filled Ian's eyes.  His Father had always been oblivious to the love that had unceasingly been there.

"Yes.  I knew you would understand."  Ian's voice was firm, steady, unlike his heart.

"Yes.  Oddly enough, I do."  Irons _did understand.  _

A line had been drawn in the proverbial sand…but lines and boundaries were always meant to be crossed.  To overpower the combination of Ian and Excaliber, along with Sara and her strengthened connection to the Witchblade, he would need the full power of the Longinus Lance.  This was now a certainty.

In the blackness, the men faced one another, barely able to discern one another's eyes.  Reaching into his coat, Ian retrieved his Father's cell phone, and handed it to him.

"Do you know where you are?" He asked.

"No.  I haven't the faintest idea."  Irons reached for the phone, brushing his son's hand, perhaps for the last time.

Ian provided his Father a specific location for his men…including the GPS coordinates.  His Father placed the call as Ian listened patiently before he turned to walk away, heading where he had stashed Gabriel's car.  Irons would never be the loving Father. And he was far from the perfect son.  He had to accept this.

"Ian?"  Irons called out, stopping Nottingham in his tracks.

"I wish things had been different, too."  _That I would have gotten to wear the blade…that I could know true immortality and power from being a wielder myself.  Yes, He wished things had been different all right._

Without turning around, Ian closed his eyes, forcing his tears to flow down his cheeks as he raised his gloved hand in reply.  _He was tired of all the lies!  He knew his Father would not be able to resist the power he had sought his whole life.  Nottingham knew Irons would be coming.  _

But for now…He was free.  It would have to be enough.

Irons watched Ian leave and remained at that spot for quite a while, in quiet reflection.  At first, he had been elated at Ian's weakness on having let him live.  It would have been so easy to run the blade across his throat and eliminate any threat to his precious Sara.  Now as he pondered on this, he was not so sure that he had just witnessed his son's frailty.  Perhaps it was his strength that provided the means to his challenge, knowing this would not be the last time they would confront one another.  Yet, his son still allowed him to walk away.  _Why?_

Pushing such thoughts from his mind, he finally made his way back to the tunnel and his out of commission limo.  He had expected his men to be there by now.  By the dim light of the highway, he paced, growing angrier at their incompetence.  Then, it struck him.  He called once more.

"I am waiting.  What is taking so long?"  Irons barked, knowing what their answer would be.

"We are at the spot you gave us, Mr. Irons.  There is no tunnel...and no limo.  Keep your phone on…we can triangulate your location.  We'll get a chopper to you ASAP, sir."  

As the man shared this bit of information, Irons slipped his phone into his pocket.  A smile spread across his face, and then he began to laugh quietly to himself.  Ian had deliberately given his men bad information, to leave him stranded, perhaps to give time for his retreat.

"Check mate to you, young Nottingham.  Check mate, my son."  

He replayed the image of his son turning and walking away…perhaps amicably for the last time.  A solitary tear drained from his eye…a phenomenon that had not occurred in a very long time.


	14. Epilogue - Emancipation's Illusion

**To My Readers – _Thanks again to my beta readers Blue Raven and Lady Lynne (Nightshade) for all their fine collaboration.  As always, Blue Raven posts her wonderful writing under Witchblade and Tracker fanfics.  Nightshade, however, has her first story being posted under Witchblade.  Five chapters are up, I think. Please do me a favor and check it out.  I have been lucky enough to beta for her on this one and am really enjoying the fantasy ride with her original character Samsara and an exploration of Ian's newfound freedom._**

_Thanks again for all your reviews.  You make this whole process worthwhile._

****

**Epilogue – Emancipation's Illusion**

_"Money is not the currency with which the Witchblade can be obtained."_

_Cyber Faust_

On the lake behind the cabin, the cry of a loon calling for its mate gave voice to her heart aching for him.  The cloudless sky made for a beautiful backdrop for the full moon overhead, but her senses could not appreciate the radiant display.  A cool breeze blew across her, picking up speed as it funneled through the deck with its overhang.  Crossing her arms in front of her, she futilely attempted to retain her body warmth.  It was a losing battle.  She was almost numb, but suspected it was more attributable to the link she had experienced earlier…with him.  Her connection to Ian had grown stronger since her reuniting with the Witchblade through his use of Excaliber.  

His feelings had come to her like a flood.  It had been overwhelming. 

The intensity of his love and the depth of his hate for his father were difficult for her to grasp.  She could not imagine living with such conflict every day.  _What price had Ian paid for defending her right to wield the blade?  She agonized.  After getting a sense of his inner turmoil, she knew that even with his father's death, Ian would __never be free of that strong bond.  _

The guilt would _consume him._

The car high beams snaked their way slowly through the thicket toward the cabin.   She had wanted nothing more than to see him tonight, but now, she was afraid of what he might tell her.  Telepathically, she had tried to reach him throughout the afternoon and evening, but he must have shut his mind to her.  Her last image was of him holding the broad sword to his father's heart.  _Had he killed him for her sake? _

She found herself holding her breath as the car approached, forcing the rocking chair on the deck to a pace it had probably not ever gone.  _Slow down, Pez!  She tried to calm herself.  __Maybe it didn't happen.  But what if it did?  What then?_

An eternity…it was taking him forever to pull the car up to the clearing.  Yet, she was also dreading how their lives might change once he arrived.  _She hated this waiting! Her rocker stopped. He turned off the ignition, but did not get out immediately.  He must have known she was there…waiting for him.  __Talk to me, Ian!  She pleaded to the darkness, under her breath.  She had hoped her pleas would not go unheard into the night, that perhaps he would hear her…but nothing.  _

Silence was her only reply.

As he had imagined, Sara was waiting for him.  He could see her small shape in the darkness on the porch.  Even with his enhanced vision, he could not see her eyes from this distance, but he could feel them.  After his close call with his father, he had driven aimlessly thinking about the ramifications of his own inaction.  He had not been concerned for his safety if his father sought retribution.  

Sara was the one at risk.  

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, gripping the steering wheel with his gloved hands.  He could have masked his recriminations with loud music on the radio but he deserved the self-inflicted pain of his own reprehension.  _How could he face her? He winced, shaking his head as he reached for the door._

The car door slowly opened.  His dark silhouette stood for a moment, facing her; then she could hear the car door slam.  The crunch of gravel under his feet was barely discernible.  She could not see his face as yet…even with the full moon shining overhead.  The clearing and the surrounding trees were awash in a bluish haze, projecting a faint aura around him.

He stopped in front of her chair, standing in silence.  She could not find the words to initiate this conversation.  It must come from him, she thought.  After an interminable wait, he finally collapsed onto the deck at her feet, his back leaning against the wooden railing.  The profile of his face highlighted in a blue gray from the moon.

She waited for his first words.

Looking up into her sweet face, he felt like _such a failure.  No words could defend what he had done…or been unable to do…for her sake.  His ruthless father may one day make him regret his weakness today.  And Sara would pay the price.  He could not look upon her now.  Turning his head into the anonymity of the shadows, he began._

"I could not do it, Sara."  His voice was only a whisper, choked with emotion.  She closed her eyes in gratitude.  He continued. "I thought I had the strength, but I was …mistaken."

This was _his moment.  She wanted __only to listen._

"You came to me…your voice.  I could hear you in my head…feel you here."  Clutching his gloved hand to his chest, he tried to explain.  He suspected she knew what he was struggling to tell her.  "You only voiced the doubts already in my own mind, Sara."

His voice trembled with feeling as he persevered.

"He will be coming for you, Sara.  _Nothing can stop him.  Death is the __only resolution to his obsession…your __only salvation.  But I had not the courage to execute him.  I could not end his life."  _

Sara could see a single tear run its course down his cheek as he rested his head against the wooden post, looking up at the stars.

"Ian…Listen to me."  Sara slid from the rocker to sit beside him on the porch.  "I don't look upon your inability to kill your own father as a sign of weakness." 

He would not look her in the eye.  She gently reached for his chin.  Instinctively, he was startled by the touch of her hand.   With added tenderness, she pulled his face toward her as she spoke again. 

"Ian…Do you understand me?"  

There was only silence.  

"If Irons comes for me, it will be because of _his weakness…__his obsession with power.  It has __nothing to do with you.  You have given up __everything to protect me…to defend my right to wield this thing."  As her fingers tenderly stroked his temple, her eyes found his in the dark.  _

Her voice was so gentle as it wafted to his ears. "I love you, Ian."

His head snapped to attention.  _Love? Did he hear right?  His Beloved Sara loves him?  Pulling off his gloves, he stuffed them into his coat pocket.  He slipped Excaliber to his finger, and then reached for her face through the night.  The moonlight robbed her face of color, but replaced it with shimmer, a glow from within.  The luminescent globe above cast its reflection in his Beloved's eyes.  Her skin felt like cool ivory.  She must be cold, he surmised.  Standing, he removed his coat, throwing it over her shoulders.  That earned him a warm smile from his green-eyed beauty._

"I…I feel…" He was struggling with the words.  

_Could he say them to her?  __Was he ready to set aside all his Father's lies about the wielder…and trust his own feelings?  He was not entirely sure he could do it.  All his life, he had been brainwashed to believe that he was a mere servant to the wielder, fit for nothing more.  If he professed his feelings now and she rejected him, he could lose any chance of being with her, even if it were just in her service.  __Courage, Ian! He thought__.  It does not matter what you believe…Believe in Sara.  Fortify yourself with her courage!_

"What, Ian? What do you feel?  I want to know."  Sara prompted, waiting on his every word.  

Watching his effort to express himself and accept her affectionate touching, she was beginning to appreciate what it had taken just to get him to this point.  His strength was exceptional.  Any relationship with him, however, would be a long uphill battle everyday.  He would have to fight for normalcy…and perhaps never truly attain it.  Sara knew Ian would have to find his own version of it.

"I…love you, too."  _There…it was out.  Why had it been so difficult? He wondered._

He watched her face intently…when he _desperately wanted to run.  This was the point he had always awakened from the dream in a cold sweat, afraid to hear her response.  But he was not asleep.  __This was reality…Was it not?  There was no going back.  __What would happen if she rejected his love?  Wait.  She was smiling at __his words.  They __loved each other?  __Amazing!  His heart leaped into his throat.  He had never __been so happy.  __Breathe!  He commanded himself to breathe.  As he took a deep breath of the cool night air, a slow shy grin spread across his face._

His face lit up with his smile.  It was a portal into his protected heart.  Sara knew she would never tire of seeing it.  Her heart raced with anticipation.  She wanted him to kiss her, but didn't want to leave it up to _him to initiate the move.  She couldn't wait __that long._

Leaning into him, she rested her right hand on the warmth of his chest.  Just when she thought his eyes were the most magnificent she had ever seen on this planet…she gazed upon them by moonlight.  _Breathtaking!_

He pressed his back against the wooden railing, unprepared for such intimacy with his Beloved Sara, the wielder.  His whole life had been dedicated to serving her, but none of his training had prepared him for this.  Involuntarily, his body reacted contrary to his heart.  He resisted her at first.

_Let this happen! I want this to happen!  He willed himself to relax._

Sara could feel him pull away.  He had done this before.  Inches from his lips, she could feel the warmth of his body.  She knew the passion of his kiss once he gave into it.  Pulling back a bit, she asked.

"Are you okay with this?"  Sara touched her finger tips to his cheek and along his lips as she whispered.  "I know this is difficult for you…but I promise to be patient…if you want to try."

He considered her words and nodded slowly, bowing his head.

"My training…I have no experience, Sara.  I feel like such a…" He shook his head, angry with himself for his inability to react like a normal man.

"Shhhhhh."  She raised her fingers to his lips so he would not say the words.  "I won't have you speaking critically about the man I love, okay?  Only I can do that."  She teased affectionately; the glow from the moon sparkled in her laughing eyes.

His eyes registered surprise, but then he quickly started to chuckle, hugging her to his chest.  His masculine and enticing laugh reverberated in her bosom, sending tingles through her body.

"If you promise to be patient with me…I can assure you I will try, Sara."  This time, he was the one lowering his lips to hers.

Cradling her in his muscular arms, he uncertainly touched his lips to hers.  The sensation sent chills along his body, down to his toes.  He shivered with his passion for this woman.  Pulling her weight atop him, he plunged his tongue into her mouth, remembering what she had taught him.  His mouth devoured hers as his heart pounded against his chest.  The feel of her silken hair through his fingers made his hands tremble as he clutched her tighter to his heart.  _Sensations…new and different emotions were overwhelming him!  He commanded himself to inhale, for he could have died in her arms and been perfectly happy._

Wrapped in his arms, she felt safe.  His body was so warm.  She could feel him react to her.  As their tongues entwined, she ran her fingers along his cheek, entangling them in his long, wavy hair.  Her body shuddered in anticipation as she could feel his erection nudging her.  Her cheeks were flush with her desire, quivering at the thought of him inside her.  

_She wanted him…needed him!_

With Gabriel in the cabin, probably hearing everything as he feigned sleep, Sara's mind raced with their choices.  She needed to give him guidance, but she now wanted advice herself.  If her dear friend had chosen to go on a very long midnight stroll, they could have simply gone into the bedroom…_and shut the door this time.  Of course, her life was __never that easy._

"Ian?"  She spoke his name, out of breath, as she nuzzled his sweet face.  "Do you trust me?"

"Without question, my love."  

He heard his own voice as if it were coming from a stranger, responding of his own accord without thinking_.  Taking such liberties made his heart soar.  He clutched her to him, as if they could get any closer.  The smell of her skin was like a drug._

"Then…wait here for a minute."  Sara reluctantly pulled away from him, touching his lips once more with her fingertips.  His coat fell off her onto the deck.  "I'll be right back."

Sara arose and quietly sneaked into the cabin.  Ian had no idea what she was doing.  Calming himself, he counted his heartbeats, and his many blessings, until she returned.  Closing his eyes, he solemnized every facet of her face under the moonlight.  He wanted to remember this night for the remainder of his years.  

Rejoining him with her arms full of blankets from inside, she spoke in a whisper again.

"Follow me."

*****

Gabriel knew Sara wanted to be alone.  No amount of comfort from a friend was going to satisfy the need she had to be with Ian.  Her visions…or whatever she had, seemed to scare her.  She had withdrawn into herself, growing more fretful as the evening dragged.  Any attempt at conversation fell flat, so he had stopped trying.  She had seemed to be more agitated with every endeavor at idle chatter.  Frustrated in providing solace to his friend, in the end, Gabe could do _nothing for her._

Being a nocturnal creature, he would have taken a long walk down by the lake.  If things had been different, more normal, he would have enjoyed staying up much of the night talking to Sara or Ian in front of a blazing fire.  This was not to be.  Their lives were anything _but normal._

Sara had been with Ian in his suffering…both her mind and heart.

He showered early and made a fire.  Lying on the sofa under a quilt, his eyes were drawn hypnotically into its flames, the fiery glow with its opposing shadow cast about the room indiscriminately.  That's when he heard the car.  Ian had returned.  Gabe heard the rocker on the porch stop and then move more intensely.  He could only imagine what was going through her mind.  He prayed Ian had not killed his own father.  Closing his eyes, he entreated the powers that be.  Irons was an evil man and would have been deserving of Ian's wrath.  Yet Gabe also thought that a part of a person's soul died whenever they took a life.  And he would not have wished this upon Ian…even if the life taken had been that of Kenneth Irons.  He assumed Ian had precious little soul remaining after being commanded by his father to kill in his service.  Gabe prayed that in time, his friend Ian could earn back his soul…somehow.

He could hear their whispers just outside the door, not able to make out the words.  He was also not sure he had wanted to eavesdrop.  After a while, he could not hear a thing coming from outside…except their breathing.  _God, did he feel like a fifth wheel!  He blushed.  The front door quietly opened.  He shut his eyes, pretending to be asleep. If they were sneaking into the bedroom, he made up his mind to take that long walk near the lake. They needed their privacy.  Instead, he caught a glimpse of Sara stealing into the bedroom and come out with some blankets.  __Good girl!  Don't let this opportunity slip through your hands, Chief!  He encouraged her with his thoughts, keeping his eyes closed as she tiptoed through the room._

"Don't wait up, Mom."  She whispered in his direction.  Evidently, even in the wilderness, he did not make a good possum.  He smiled and added.

"Just remember your curfew, young lady."  Apparently, all was well with Nottingham.  _Very well!  __And about to get better!  This made him happy.  He pulled the comforter over his shoulder as he rolled toward the fire.  _

He would be able to sleep now…if he could get the grin off his face.

*****

Leaving his coat on the deck railing, Ian grabbed the blankets from Sara, slipping his right hand into hers.  This would be a normal gesture for friends, lovers, and families, but Nottingham had never experienced such intimacy, having been forced to wear gloves much of his life.  The feel of her smaller hand in his filled him with serenity.  He could not keep his eyes from her as they made their way to the lake in the dark.  On this cloudless night, the moon did astonishing things to her hair and beautiful face.

Having hiked this area earlier in the day, Sara had remembered a picturesque and secluded spot near a large boulder overlooking the lake.  As Gabriel had skimmed stones at the water's edge, she discovered a small clearing shaded under a bower of pine trees, secluded and private.  Walking underneath the canopy, she was drawn to the intimacy of this place as she stepped onto the cushion of soft pine needles.  It had been a photo op during the day, but by this hour, the moon's light shimmered on the surface like precious stones.  The gentle lapping of the waves caressing the shoreline was soothing.  

There was a stillness here.  Ian needed that, she thought.  They both did.

She located the boulder as her marker by night, and then turned toward the clearing she had found earlier in the day.  They laid out the blankets on top of natures' own padding of pine needles, leaving one quilt to pull over them.  Through the stand of trees, the lake glimmered, reflecting the brilliant stars overhead as the waves kissed the shoreline. The light of the moon danced onto their makeshift bed as the breeze gently nudged the tree limbs overhead.  

They collapsed onto the blankets.  Sara had been watching Ian, whose eyes darted to hers whenever he thought she wasn't looking.  Even amidst all this beauty, he could not relax, she noticed.  She assumed he must be anxious.  She could not imagine what he was feeling, but she wanted to know.

"Talk to me, Ian."  She began as she rolled her body closer to his, feeling the heat radiating from his skin.  Her fingers stroked his face as he searched for words.  Maybe she could help. "What are you feeling?"

His expression was hard to read in the dark, but it was very apparent he did not want to rush this moment.  His body appeared rigid with anxiety.

"My father…had a certain vision…for my life."  

His eyes drifted toward the lake, but only after he reached for her hand, holding it firmly.  The feel of her skin against his was enough to send his body into a realm he had never known.  His father had taught him to be well spoken but not when it came to matters of the heart.  He strained for every word.

"All my training was designed for servitude…to him…to the next wielder."  She waited patiently for his words.

"My life was ordered…and set to its course.  I did not even think to stray from such a passage."  Turning his face to hers, he raised his fingers to gently outline her features with his fingertips.  

"That is, until I saw you.  Then, everything changed…_Everything!"_

Sara did not know where he was headed, but she fought to keep still, allowing him to find his way.  His fingers on her face sent shudders through her body.

"As much as I want to feel like a normal man with the woman I love…this…is not reality for me."  Sara started to speak, but he laid two fingers to her lips and kissed her forehead so that he may continue.

"_My reality?  I have a father that I love against my better judgment…who is committed to do battle with a woman in possession of my heart.  All because he is obsessed with power."  He ran his fingers through her hair, brushing strands off her shoulders onto her back.  _

"I have nothing to offer you, Sara…for I am not whole.  Death is all I bring to your door."  His voice was choked with emotion at _his version of reality.  He could not look her in the eye._

"Ian…listen to me…and _please hear me."  She laid her hand to his chest, her voice as quiet as a prayer.  She touched his lips with her fingers until he looked into her eyes._

"Your father…became my problem when I chose to take up the blade…and make justice my life's purpose.  I will not only have to defend it against him, but I am sure there will be others like him." She smiled reassuringly before she persisted.

"You spared Annie from a life of institutionalized care, helped us find her mother's killer."  She grinned with her next thought.  "I was beginning to get a little envious of your feelings for that little girl."  Remembering Annie's little face, Nottingham's facial expression warmed, as Sara pleaded her case.

"You saved _my life…make __no mistake about that.  I figure, I'm ahead of the game with you on my side…and a part of my life."  Even in the dim light, she caught the glimmer of a smile across his face.  As her fingers began to trace his smile, he nuzzled his lips into the palm of her hand, kissing it tenderly._

"I think we were meant to find each other…somehow.  So much has conspired to bring us together."  Now, she began to smile. His hair wafted across his face with the mild breeze off the lake.  She gingerly placed a strand of it behind his right ear.  His eyes never wavered from hers.

"Besides…I think you and I…being together like this…let's just call it our little revolt against your father.  I kinda like that idea."  Sara's chuckle was contagious.  Ian joined her.

"You may have a point, Sara.  I have been feeling…a little rebellious of late."  The smile was back in his voice.

"So…where do we begin?"  He asked shyly, his voice low and intimate.  In the dim lighting, she probably could not see his blush, but he could definitely feel the warmth on his cheeks.

"Do you trust me, Ian?"  She was having a déjà vu moment.

"Without question, my love."

She rolled atop him, his hair falling loosely onto the blanket.  As she lowered her lips to his, her hair cascaded forward, enfolding him in silken strands.

_She knew this was going to be extraordinary!_

*****

"Shhhh.  I think he's still asleep."  Sara spoke in hushed tones, but the floor creaked under Nottingham's weight.  He must have been the other footfall Gabe had heard in the early hours of the morning.  Checking the watch he had forgotten to take off his wrist, Gabe was dazed to learn it was twenty minutes after six_.  So this is what dawn looked like, he thought._

"No…learned my lesson, Pez."  Gabriel sat up, with his hair in disarray, yawning as he spoke. "Not gonna fake being asleep.  I'm up."

Ian and Sara stood near the sofa.  Each wrapped in a quilt or two.  They had been caught mid-stride as they attempted to slink passed him.  The clothes they had underneath the blankets were not fully buttoned, and their hands never strayed from one another.  Their smiles were another dead giveaway of just how they had spent the night.

"Good.  Pack your things.  We're leaving as soon as we can load the car."  Sara responded as she pulled Ian into the hallway behind her.

"You are missing a beautiful sunrise, Gabriel, my friend."  Ian spoke, and then stole a kiss from Sara. "Magnificent, isn't it?"  Ian was not purely talking about nature's offering as he reflected upon the woman by his side.

"Oh no, Captain.  You a morning person?  Say it ain't so.  I'm out numbered."  Gabriel grabbed a sofa pillow and covered his head.  "And just when I was getting used to sleeping in this peace and quiet."  His voice was muffled.

Gabriel thought he had done some of his greatest thinking under pillows.  His mind was already working…even this early.  He made a mental note to ask the Captain if he would ever consider the loan of his safe house to his closest friends for some R & R.  This place had its romantic elements.  He had a feeling Ian would agree.  Pulling the pillow off his face, he shouted down the hall.  

"I'll be ready in fifteen…on one condition."

Ian and Sara both popped their heads around the hallway corner.  "What condition?"  They sang in unison, exchanging glances at the coincidence.

"I want breakfast…I am _starving."  Sara knitted her brow.  She even had Nottingham doing it.  "I found a place for us to eat in Kingston…when I was grocery shopping the other morning.  You're gonna love it."  He grinned._

Sara looked at Nottingham, who shrugged and nodded his head.

"My friend wants to eat breakfast.  We should eat breakfast, Sara."  Ian concurred, then turned and disappeared into the bedroom with a smile on his face.

"Does this mean you're both gonna start watching old Three Stooges movies together?"  Sara shrugged, trying to get either man's attention, performing her signature eyebrow maneuver.  "A male bonding ritual…secret handshakes?  Am I right?"

No reply.  Sara shrugged and packed her bag, in between sneaking peeks at Nottingham whenever possible.  _The scenery around this place was remarkable, she decided._

They were packed and on their way within fifteen minutes, as Gabriel had promised, heading into the nearby town.

*****

Kingston's small Town Square was lined with quaint antique shops, a jeweler, a bank, a flower shop, and an ice cream store that had yet to open.  The Chat and Chew Restaurant had a neon sign that flickered its greeting.  The front window had been painted with chickens in a myriad of colors and had posters taped across the lower half for various local events and fundraisers.  The daily specials were marked on a white board on an easel just outside the front door.  As they stepped inside, they were met with the clatter of plates and utensils.  Packed to the rafters, the sound of conversations across the room converged on their ears in unison.  _Pure chaos!  The town looked so small, Sara thought.  __Where had all these people come from…at this hour?_

"The Chat and Chew, Gabriel?"  Sara was skeptical.  It looked like a greasy spoon to her, but she was partial to them on a road trip.

Gabe's whole face lit up with his smile.  "Ain't it great!" He beamed.

"Chickens, Gabe.  They _must like their chickens."  Sara joked, gazing about the room.  _

The walls were hung with photos, and miscellaneous arts and crafts of chickens…lots and lots of chickens.  They hung from the rafters, were poised near the cashier's counter, and on every square inch of the walls.  Even a four-foot tall wooden totem of a chicken stood near the entrance, like some sort of Poultry Deity.

"Yeah.  It's got character, huh?"  Gabe had to speak above the din, an animated smile spread across his face.  His eyes twinkling with his enthusiasm as he tried to filter out Sara's sarcasm.

Sara looked over at Ian, wondering what could _possibly be going through his mind.  She assumed he had not been in such a place, having lived in Irons' luxury his whole life.  He quietly returned her stare.  Preferring his anonymity, the raucous crowd and noise made Ian uncomfortable, but he would survive this…he hoped._

"I wonder if they serve eggs here."  He speculated playfully.  Sara could not hide her smirk at Ian's remark.

The place was packed with locals, a pretty good sign the food was edible…either that, or every one here had no taste, Sara thought.   Gabe made his way to the only open booth, beckoning them to follow with a quick wave of his hand.  Sara followed him with Ian not far behind.

Scanning the room, Ian fought against his training to make note of the nearest exits and keeping his back to a wall for added protection.  His father would never have permitted him to come here…or have a friend…or fall in love with Sara_.  Freedom was wonderful…and frightening, he thought.  _

"Come on.  Check out this menu."  Gabe grabbed the laminated menus from the wooden holder nailed to the wall within each booth, distributing them to Ian and Sara as they joined him.  Ian slid next to Sara.  

"Breakfast is on the back." Gabe directed.

"Their eggs have numbers, Gabriel." Ian quietly observed, perusing the bill of fare.  His comment got another raised eyebrow from Sara, but no remark.

"Yeah…the number 15 looks good…or the number 5 with maybe some swiss cheese.  I like swiss cheese."  Gabe commented eagerly, not looking up from his menu.  

"Get out much, Gabriel?"  Sara teased…earning her a bogus leer from her friend.

Their waitress Sue had a good sense of priorities.  Before taking their order, she had brought coffee mugs, utensils, paper napkins, but most importantly, a fresh pot of coffee.  Sara was happy already.  It had been days since she had a good cup of java.  All the waitresses wore t-shirts proclaiming _'Poultry Power'.  When Gabe asked for her recommendation, Sue endorsed eggs wholeheartedly.  So, they ordered eggs…all around…evidently, the local fare._

With the place so crowded, their food order would probably take a while.  Gabriel reached into his jean pocket looking for some change for a newspaper.  He wanted to know what was going on in the world…since it seemed time had stood still over the last few days.  

"Gonna get a paper.  You guys need anything?"  Gabe asked.  Both Ian and Sara shook their heads in response.

After Gabe left in search of news, Ian glanced at Sara and met her eyes.  Being this close to her, their thighs touching along with the occasional touch of their skin, Ian was reminded of their night together.  He forced himself to stay in the moment; otherwise he would probably get them arrested for what he wanted to do at this moment.  Sara smiled as he looked unabashedly upon her.  Knowing that look, she did not need telepathic powers to understand what was on his mind.

"I can't wait to get you home."  She whispered in his ear.   

He closed his eyes wanting to focus on every sensation this spawned.  Chills ran over his body as her breath lightly touched his skin.  Slowly opening his eyes once more, he gently kissed her lips.  He did not want to leave her…_not ever.  But he needed to speak to Gabriel…__alone._

"I have to speak to Gabriel for a moment.  Do you mind, Sara?"  He quietly asked.

Sara wondered about the topic of conversation.  She speculated it would be about her…and she was fine with that.

"No.  No problem. He may get lost finding his way back."  She teased with a wave of her hand.  She watched him leave.  _Yep…the scenery was definitely awe-inspiring!  She observed._

Sara had not been far from wrong about Gabe needing help to find his way back.  He had made his way down a couple of blocks, looking for a newspaper.  Apparently, all the townspeople were avid readers.  The stands were empty.

"Gabriel."  He called.  Hearing his name, Gabe stopped in front of the last newsstand on the Town Square and turned to see Ian walking towards him.  He was still fumbling for change.  

"You need something, Captain?"  He smiled.

"I need a favor, Gabriel.  Perhaps a little research."

"Talk to me.  Research is my middle name.  I got ribbed for that in high school."  The smaller man teased.

"Damn!  Not enough change.  You got a dime, Ian?"  Gabe was having a hard time focusing.  Ian shook his head.  He never carried change in his pocket…a stealth thing. Knowing Gabriel would not be appeased until he got his paper, Ian looked furtively toward his companion.

Standing next to the only newsstand containing any papers, Ian blocked the view of any unwanted stares.  He skimmed his hand along one side of the metal fixture until he found just the right spot.  With one fluid motion, he struck a well-placed blow to the side of the stand.  _A very practiced maneuver, Gabe thought.  The front door popped open, without the benefit of coin.  Grabbing the change from Gabe's outstretched hand, he tossed it into the opening, hoping to make partial amends for his thievery.  He then grabbed a paper, folded it in half, and stuck it under Gabriel's arm before closing the door to the newsstand.  Placing his left hand on Gabe's far shoulder, he directed a dumbstruck Gabriel back to the restaurant.  Ian did not want to leave his Beloved Sara for long.   _

"How did you _do that?"  Gabe walked alongside Nottingham but kept glancing back to the newsstand, trying to remember what Captain Crypto had done._

"If I told you…" Ian began but Gabe finished.

"Yeah...I know.  You'd have to kill me."  Gabe nodded with a smirk.  "Have you ever thought this is _not funny coming from a man of __your skills?"  _

Ignoring Gabe's remark, Ian looked him in the eye, and asked conspiratorially.

"What do you know about the Longinus Lance?"

**The End**


End file.
